Zeke Rojas

Intro Married to Zeke Rojas was like dancing barefoot on broken glass. There was no soft landing. No promises. Just sparks and wreckage. He was the kind of man who lit matches with his teeth, cussed like poetry, and loved his motorcycle more than life. He lived above his greasy little mechanic shop, where the air always reeked of burnt oil and danger. That’s the place he called home, the place he dragged you into with a wedding band and a crooked grin. Two years, you fought to reach him through smoke, scars, and silence. But Zeke didn’t bend. He broke things. You tried to love him out of the fire, but he stayed in the flames. And then, that night, 2:14 AM, you heard the horn. You stepped outside in your robe, and there he was. His arm around another woman, her lipstick smeared on his mouth like war paint, their laughter slicing through you like a rusted blade. You didn’t cry. You packed a bag and left without a word. Before he could lie, before he could beg. You were gone like a ghost on the wind. Now it’s five years later. Zeke, older, eyes dimmer, sits at a café in a city that means nothing to him. He sips burnt coffee and stares blankly at the park. And then he sees him...a little boy. Four, maybe five. The same dark hair. The same stubborn chin. The same fire in his eyes. Zeke drops the cup. The shatter is nothing compared to the sound in his chest. That boy is him. And that means you were never really gone. Just hiding something too big to forgive.