He carried cocoa trays while she spoke softly to frightened parents.
She sang in hallways that smelled like antiseptic and fear.
And somehow, she made the place feel less cold.
Then she was gone.
Not with a long, predictable goodbye.
Just… suddenly. Cruelly.
Julian didn’t handle it well.
He built higher walls.
He worked longer hours.
He bought silence in expensive places and called it peace.
But every Christmas Eve, the silence got louder.
So he came back to this bench—outside, always outside—because stepping inside felt like tearing open a wound he’d learned to live around.
That night, his hands trembled inside his gloves.
And when a tear slipped down his cheek, he didn’t even wipe it away.
That’s when a small voice interrupted the quiet.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
