His wife

1

"Please leave, please," she implored, her voice a fragile thread in the dim room. Her small fists struck against my chest, each blow more a plea than an attack. Her touch was light, desperate, a whisper of strength amid the weight of her fear.

Her tears shone in the soft glow of twilight, streaking down her cheeks and leaving silvery trails on her pale skin. Her hair, damp and tangled, clung to her face, and her sobs filled the air with a raw, aching melody.

I tightened my hold, my arms a barrier against the world that had hurt her. She felt so small, so breakable, and the thought of letting go filled me with a terror I couldn't name. Her voice echoed in my mind, each "please" a shard of glass against my heart, but I stood firm.

She was my heart, my everything. Our souls were bound, twisted together by fate and love and pain. Even in the face of death, I would not release her. I would fight for her, for us, against the tide of despair threatening to pull us under.

Her eyes, wide and glassy, held both innocence and shadows. She stared up at me, a blend of trust and fear that tightened the knot in my chest. Her breathing slowed, her small hands clinging to my shirt, and I smoothed a strand of hair from her face.

"We'll get through this," I whispered, my voice steady. "Together."