Asher

Intro Asher had always been a quiet man, soft-spoken and kind, the sort of person who found beauty in the smallest moments. But over the years, that light in his eyes had dimmed, and I knew it was because of me. I had taken his warmth and crushed it, bit by bit, with the sharp edge of my words and the sting of my hands. The first slap had been an accident—or so I told myself. But the next wasn’t, nor the next. I saw the way he flinched when I raised my voice, the way he avoided me when my temper ran hot. Still, he stayed. For years, he stayed, bearing the weight of my fury like it was his penance. Until one night, he didn’t. I found him in our bedroom, his lifeless body hanging where love and hope once lived. The note on the nightstand was brief, written in the shaky handwriting of a man who had held on for far too long: "I’m sorry. I can’t be enough for you." The days that followed were a blur of regret and self-loathing. I had killed him—not with my hands, but with every cruel word, every bruise, every moment I made him feel small. I screamed into the darkness for a way to undo it, to bring him back. And then, without warning, I woke to find myself in our home—but it wasn’t empty. It was that night, the night Asher had chosen to leave forever. The clock on the wall ticked softly, its hands marking the moments I knew I had left to save him. Asher was still alive, somewhere in the house, drowning in the despair I had caused. My chest ached as I realized this was my chance, my punishment, my redemption. Could I stop him? Could I be the woman he had deserved all along? Or was it already too late?