—
The soft hum of the television filled the living room as Rody leaned back against the couch, one arm draped casually over Manon’s shoulders. They were in their element, comfortable in the simplicity of being together, watching a late-night movie. Rody’s laughter echoed lightly, infectious as always, making Manon smile. She nestled closer to him,warmth of his body against hers. It was moments like these that made her feel grounded, as if all the chaos of their lives could be paused with a simple touch.
But not everyone in the room shared their contentment.
Vincent sat on the edge of an armchair across from them, his dark eyes fixed on Rody with a quiet intensity. The shadows from the TV cast sharp angles across his young face, highlighting the furrow in his brow. He watched the way Rody’s hand gently squeezed Manon’s shoulder, the way Rody’s gaze softened whenever he looked at her. It was unbearable.
Vincent knew it was wrong-knew that the way he felt about Rody was twisted and inappropriate. But knowing didn’t make the feelings go away. In fact, it made them stronger, more desperate. He was obsessed, and the more he watched Rody adore his sister, the deeper that obsession grew.
“Vincent, are you okay?” Manon asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the room.
He blinked, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention to the movie-or anything else for that matter. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
Manon gave him a concerned look but didn’t push further. She was always like that-kind, gentle, understanding. She had been his rock ever since she took him in after CPS removed him from their parents’ home. She was everything he should have wanted in a sibling, everything he should have looked up to.
But instead, he hated her. Or, more accurately, he hated what she had-what he could never have.
Rody.
Manon shifted slightly, her hand reaching up to stroke Rody’s cheek, drawing a contented sigh from him. Vincent’s stomach churned with jealousy. She made it all look so easy-being confident, being loved. She had no idea what it was like to be him, to feel so lost, so undeserving of the simplest affection.
Rody looked over at Vincent, and for a moment, their eyes met. Vincent felt a familiar rush of heat, a wild hope that maybe this time Rody would see him differently. But instead, Rody’s expression remained unchanged, maybe even slightly annoyed.
“Vincent,” Rody said, his tone polite but distant, “you’ve been staring at me all night. Is there something on your mind?”
Vincent’s heart raced, his mouth going dry. He tried to play it off, shrugging as casually as he could manage. “Just spacing out, I guess. Sorry.”
Rody nodded, but the way he quickly looked away, focusing back on Manon, told Vincent everything he needed to know. Rody thought he was weird-creepy even. It wasn’t the first time Vincent had noticed that look in his eyes, the slight edge of discomfort that appeared whenever they were alone together. It was humiliating.
“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Manon suggested, her voice warm with concern. “You’ve been studying all day. You need to rest.”
Vincent wanted to scream, to tell her to stop treating him like a child, but he bit his tongue. Instead, he nodded, standing up slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he muttered, avoiding looking at Rody. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” Rody replied absently, his attention already back on the movie and on Manon.
Vincent walked towards the stairs, feeling the weight of their indifference pressing down on him. He paused at the foot of the steps, glancing back one last time. There they were-wrapped up in each other’s arms, a picture of perfect contentment. It should have been a beautiful sight, something to make him happy for his sister. But all he felt was bitterness.
Why did she get to have everything? Why did she get to have Rody’s love, Rody’s adoration, when all Vincent ever got was scraps of attention, tinged with discomfort and pity?
As he climbed the stairs, Vincent’s thoughts grew darker, more twisted. He hated himself for feeling this way, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to be like Manon-confident, loved, secure in himself. But most of all, he wanted Rody to look at him with those same loving eyes he gave Manon. He wanted to be the one Rody held close, the one Rody smiled at with warmth instead of unease.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Vincent stopped in front of the mirror that hung in the hallway. He stared at his reflection, at the pale, tired face that looked back at him. How could anyone love him when he couldn’t even stand the sight of himself?
He clenched his fists, a surge of anger and frustration building up inside him. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.
“One day,” he whispered to his reflection, his voice trembling with emotion, “one day he’ll see me the way he sees her. He has to.”
But deep down, Vincent knew that day would never come. He was stuck in the shadows, forever watching, forever yearning for something he could never have. And with each passing day, his resentment towards Manon grew, festering like a wound that would never heal.
As he turned away from the mirror and retreated to his room, Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that he was slowly losing control. He was spiraling into a darkness he wasn’t sure he could escape from.
And the worst part? A small, twisted part of him didn’t want to escape. He wanted to drown in it, to let it consume him, because maybe-just maybe-then Rody would finally see him.
And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t find him so creepy after all.
Vincent closed the door to his room, the click of the latch reverberating in the silence. The darkness was comforting, enveloping him in its cold embrace. He leaned against the door, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the intensity of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was so tired-tired of feeling like this, tired of being trapped in a life that wasn’t his own.
He moved to his desk, where the faint glow of his laptop screen illuminated the clutter of notebooks and papers. It was supposed to be a place of refuge, a space where he could lose himself in his studies and forget about the mess in his head. But even here, in the solitude of his room, Vincent couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued him.
He sat down, opening his laptop and staring blankly at the screen. The words and equations on his homework blurred together, meaningless. All he could think about was Rody-Rody’s laughter, Rody’s smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was genuinely happy. Vincent had never seen anyone else smile like that. Certainly not Manon.
He hated the way his sister seemed to have it all figured out. She was beautiful, confident, and sure of herself in a way Vincent could only dream of being. And Rody loved her for it. Vincent had seen the way Rody’s eyes lit up when he talked to her, the way he hung on her every word. It was enough to make Vincent sick with envy.
The jealousy was eating him alive, gnawing away at whatever good was left inside him. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. Manon had taken care of him, had given up so much to be there for him after their parents had failed them. She deserved to be happy. But all Vincent could think about was how much he wanted to take that happiness for himself.
His thoughts drifted back to the few times he’d managed to catch Rody’s attention, the brief moments when Rody had looked at him-not with love, not even with affection, but at least with recognition. Those moments were rare, fleeting, but they kept Vincent going. They made him believe, however foolishly, that maybe one day Rody would see him in a different light.
Vincent’s hand hovered over the keyboard as he considered sending a message to Rody. He’d done it before-simple texts, asking about his day or complimenting something trivial. Rody always responded politely, but there was never any warmth in his replies, nothing that indicated he saw Vincent as anything more than Manon’s kid brother.
But tonight was different. Tonight, Vincent’s need for Rody’s attention was almost unbearable. He needed to feel something other than the suffocating jealousy that had taken root in his chest. He needed Rody to acknowledge him, to see him as something more than just an awkward teenager.
His fingers moved over the keys, typing out a message before he could think better of it.
**Vincent:** *Hey, can we talk?*
He stared at the screen, his heart pounding as he watched the three little dots appear, indicating that Rody was typing a response. It felt like an eternity before the reply finally came.
**Rody:** *What’s up? Something wrong?*
Vincent hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He had initiated this conversation, but now that he had Rody’s attention, he didn’t know what to say. Should he be honest? Should he tell Rody how he really felt? The thought terrified him.
**Vincent:** *I just…* He paused, deleting the words before typing again. *I feel really alone right now.*
It wasn’t a lie. He did feel alone-more alone than he’d ever felt before. But he also knew that Rody might interpret the message as just another bout of teenage angst. He needed Rody to understand that this was different, that he was reaching out for something more.
The dots appeared again, and Vincent held his breath.
**Rody:** *I’m sorry you feel that way, Vincent. You know Manon and I are here for you, right?*
Vincent clenched his jaw, a wave of frustration washing over him. Rody’s response was kind, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to be comforted like a child; he wanted to be seen as an equal, as someone worthy of Rody’s attention and affection.
**Vincent:** *Yeah, I know. But it’s not the same. I just… I wish things were different.*
He stared at the message, willing Rody to understand, to see through the vague words and grasp the deeper meaning behind them. He needed Rody to see him-not as Manon’s little brother, not as some awkward kid, but as someone who could stand beside him.
The reply took longer this time, and when it came, Vincent’s heart sank.
**Rody:** *I get it, Vin. But you’re young. Things will change as you get older, you’ll find your way. Just hang in there, okay?*
It was the same patronizing advice Vincent had heard a hundred times before. He felt his face flush with anger and humiliation. Rody still saw him as nothing more than a kid, someone who didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt. It was infuriating.
**Vincent:** *I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.*
There was a long pause before Rody responded again.
**Rody:** *Vincent, it’s late. Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.*
Vincent stared at the screen, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He was being dismissed-brushed aside like an inconvenience. Rody didn’t want to deal with him, didn’t want to confront the uncomfortable reality of what Vincent was trying to express.
**Vincent:** *Right. Sorry for bothering you. Goodnight.*
He slammed the laptop shut, the abrupt movement sending a stack of papers tumbling to the floor. Vincent buried his face in his hands, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. He had known this would happen, had known that Rody would never see him the way he wanted to be seen. But the rejection still hurt more than he had expected.
Downstairs, he could still hear the soft murmur of the television, the occasional sound of Rody’s laughter mingling with Manon’s. It was a reminder of everything he didn’t have, everything he could never have.
Vincent curled up on his bed, pulling the blankets over his head in a futile attempt to block out the world. He wished he could turn off his emotions as easily as flipping a switch, but he couldn’t. The jealousy, the longing, the resentment-it all simmered inside him, threatening to boil over.
In the darkness of his room, Vincent made a silent vow. He would find a way to make Rody see him, to make Rody understand how much he meant to him. Even if it meant tearing down everything around him, even if it meant hurting the people he cared about.
Because in the end, all that mattered was Rody. And Vincent was willing to do whatever it took to have him-even if it meant destroying himself in the process.
The days following that night were a blur for Vincent. His interactions with Rody grew more strained, the tension between them thickening like a fog neither could navigate through. Rody still treated him kindly, still offered those half-hearted reassurances whenever Vincent dared to open up. But there was a distance now, a barrier that Vincent couldn’t seem to break through.
Rody had put up walls, maybe unknowingly, but they were there, keeping Vincent out, keeping him at a distance that felt both familiar and unbearable. Rody wasn’t treating him like a child, but he wasn’t treating him like an adult either. Vincent was just something in between-a burden, perhaps, or an obligation. And it was driving Vincent to the brink of something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Manon remained oblivious to the growing storm inside her brother. She was too wrapped up in her own life, in her relationship with Rody, to notice the dark cloud looming over Vincent. She’d smile and chat with him, asking about his classes or his plans for the weekend, but her attention would inevitably drift back to her phone or the next time she’d see Rody. It made Vincent’s blood boil.
Every moment they spent together, Vincent felt like a third wheel, an unwanted intruder in their perfect little world. He watched with a hollow ache in his chest as Rody doted on Manon, as they shared inside jokes and casual touches that Vincent could only dream of. And with each passing day, the jealousy morphed into something darker-resentment, anger, even hatred.
It wasn’t fair. Manon had everything-beauty, confidence, love. She had survived their childhood, come out of it stronger and more resilient than ever. But what did Vincent have? He had the weight of their past, the scars that refused to heal, and a heart full of longing for something he could never have. He hated her for it-hated her for being everything he wasn’t and for having everything he wanted.
One evening, as Manon and Rody were planning another date night, Vincent couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of them laughing together, so effortlessly happy, was too much. He excused himself from the room, mumbling something about needing to study, and retreated to the kitchen. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t have a plan, but the simmering anger in his chest needed an outlet.
Vincent grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and taking a sip, trying to calm himself down. But the sound of their voices-muffled now by the walls-only served to fuel his rage. They were talking about him, he was sure of it. Rody was probably telling Manon about the weird message Vincent had sent him, laughing it off as teenage drama.
He slammed the glass down on the counter, the sharp sound startling even himself. His hands were trembling, and he clenched them into fists to stop the shaking. He had to do something-anything-to stop feeling like this. He couldn’t keep living in this house, couldn’t keep watching the two of them so blissfully unaware of his pain.
Vincent’s eyes fell on a drawer near the stove-the drawer where Manon kept the kitchen knives. A cold, twisted thought took root in his mind, one that made his stomach churn with both fear and fascination. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just one quick, decisive action, and all this pain would be over. All this jealousy, all this rage-it could end in an instant.
He took a step toward the drawer, his breath catching in his throat. His mind was screaming at him to stop, to walk away, but his feet kept moving. The world around him blurred as he reached for the handle, pulling the drawer open with a soft creak. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the knives, and he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.
But just as quickly as the calm came, it shattered. The sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen jolted him back to reality, and Vincent yanked his hand away as if burned. He slammed the drawer shut, turning just in time to see Rody step into the kitchen.
“Hey, you okay?” Rody asked, concern flickering in his green eyes. “You seemed a bit off earlier.”
Vincent swallowed, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… had a rough day.”
Rody nodded, leaning against the counter as he studied Vincent’s face. There was a hint of doubt in his expression, but he didn’t press the issue. “You know, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here. I mean it.”
Vincent’s chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he considered telling Rody everything-about his jealousy, his feelings, the suffocating weight of it all. But the fear of rejection, of disgust in Rody’s eyes, kept him silent.
“I appreciate it,” Vincent finally muttered, lowering his gaze. “I just… I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother,” Rody insisted, his voice softening. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine. “I care about you, Vincent. I know we’re not super close, but you’re important to me. And to Manon.”
The mention of Manon twisted the knife in Vincent’s heart. He should have been grateful for Rody’s kindness, but all he could feel was resentment. Rody cared about him, yes, but only because he was Manon’s brother. Only because he was an extension of the woman Rody truly loved.
Vincent forced another smile, nodding as he stepped back, out of Rody’s reach. “Thanks, Rody. I’ll be fine, really.”
Rody seemed to sense that the conversation was over. He gave Vincent one last searching look before nodding and heading back toward the living room, where Manon was waiting. Vincent watched him go, his heart aching with a mix of longing and bitterness.
When he was alone again, Vincent leaned against the counter, his legs trembling beneath him. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he tried to steady himself. The storm inside him hadn’t passed-it had only grown stronger, more dangerous. And Vincent knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before it consumed him entirely.
He couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that he could live with this unbearable weight in his chest. Something had to change-something had to give. And when it did, Vincent feared that nothing would ever be the same again.
The tension in the house was palpable after that night. Vincent’s thoughts were a chaotic mess, cycling between despair and anger, longing and resentment. Rody and Manon seemed oblivious, continuing with their lives, their relationship growing closer with each passing day. To them, Vincent was just a moody teenager going through a rough patch, nothing more.
But Vincent knew better. He could feel himself spiraling, losing control bit by bit. His thoughts grew darker, more twisted, and the line between reality and his desires blurred until he wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rody, couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if things were different. If Rody loved him instead of Manon. If Rody looked at him with those warm, affectionate eyes. If Rody touched him the way he touched her.
It wasn’t just a crush anymore. It was an obsession, a sickness eating away at him from the inside. And every time he saw Rody and Manon together, every time he heard them laugh or caught a glimpse of them sharing a private moment, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
Vincent spent more and more time alone, avoiding the two of them whenever possible. He buried himself in his studies, anything to keep his mind occupied. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t escape the gnawing jealousy, the bitter resentment festering inside him.
One evening, as Vincent sat in his room, the sound of muffled laughter drifted up from downstairs. Manon and Rody were watching a movie together, their voices mixing with the sounds of the film. The light, carefree tone of their conversation only deepened Vincent’s sense of isolation. They sounded so happy, so content. And he was left on the outside, looking in.
His hand trembled as he clenched it into a fist, the nails digging into his palm. How much longer could he take this? How much longer could he endure being nothing more than an afterthought, a shadow in the background of their lives?
Vincent stood up abruptly, unable to stand the sound of their happiness any longer. He needed to get out, needed to clear his head before he did something he’d regret. He grabbed his jacket and slipped out of his room, heading downstairs. He hesitated at the doorway to the living room, where he could see the glow of the TV casting soft light on Rody and Manon’s faces. They were sitting close together on the couch, Manon’s head resting on Rody’s shoulder as he absently ran his fingers through her hair.
The sight of them together was like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of Vincent. He stood there for a moment, watching them, his chest tightening with a pain that felt too intense to bear. Before he could stop himself, a soft, involuntary noise of distress escaped his lips.
Rody looked up, his eyes meeting Vincent’s. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them crackling in the air like static. Rody’s brow furrowed in concern, and he gently nudged Manon to get her attention.
“Vincent?” Rody called out, his voice laced with worry. “Is everything okay?”
Manon turned her head to look at her brother, a frown crossing her features. “Vincent, what’s wrong?”
Vincent opened his mouth to say something, to brush off their concern with a lie, but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stand there, frozen in place, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t control. How could they not see it? How could they be so blind to the pain they were causing him?
“Vincent?” Manon’s voice was softer now, more insistent. She moved to stand, but Rody put a hand on her arm, stopping her.
“Let me talk to him,” Rody said quietly, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s. “Why don’t you go finish the movie? I’ll be right back.”
Manon hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded and settled back onto the couch. Rody stood up, approaching Vincent with slow, cautious steps, as if he were trying not to spook a wild animal.
“Vincent, let’s go outside for a minute,” Rody suggested gently. “Get some fresh air, clear our heads.”
Vincent nodded mutely, too overwhelmed to argue. He followed Rody outside, the cool night air hitting his face like a splash of cold water. It helped, a little, to clear the fog of emotions clouding his mind. But not enough.
Rody led him to the porch steps, sitting down beside him. For a while, they just sat in silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a cricket. Vincent kept his gaze on the ground, afraid to look at Rody, afraid of what he might see in his eyes.
“Vincent,” Rody began, his tone gentle but firm, “I know something’s been bothering you. And I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… I’m worried about you. We both are.”
Vincent bit his lip, the words catching in his throat. How could he possibly explain what he was feeling? How could he make Rody understand?
Rody sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not going to pretend that I know what you’re going through. But you don’t have to go through it alone. You’ve got people who care about you-Manon, me. We want to help, but you’ve got to let us in.”
Vincent shook his head, finally looking up at Rody. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “You can’t understand.”
“Then help me understand,” Rody pleaded. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re feeling, I want to help.”
Vincent stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. Could he do it? Could he finally tell Rody the truth? The thought terrified him, but the idea of keeping it bottled up inside any longer was even worse.
“I’m in love with you,” Vincent blurted out, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I can’t… I can’t stand seeing you with her. It’s tearing me apart, Rody.”
Rody’s eyes widened in shock, and he opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. The silence stretched on, suffocating, until Vincent couldn’t bear it any longer. He stood up abruptly, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent choked out, backing away. “I know it’s wrong, I know I’m messed up, but I can’t help it. I just… I can’t…”
He turned and fled, not waiting to see Rody’s reaction. He ran down the street, not caring where he was going, just needing to get away, to escape the crushing weight of his confession. Tears blurred his vision, and he stumbled, nearly falling, but he kept going, driven by a desperate need to outrun the pain.
But no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape it. The pain was inside him, festering like a wound that wouldn’t heal. And as he ran, Vincent knew deep down that he couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to face the consequences of his feelings, the fallout of his confession.
But for now, all he could do was run. Run and hope that somehow, some way, he’d find a way to survive the storm raging inside him.
Vincent ran through the night, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The streets blurred past him, lit by the occasional streetlamp, but he barely noticed the scenery. His mind was a tumult of emotions-fear, shame, anger, and a deep, gnawing sadness. He couldn’t believe he’d just confessed to Rody, couldn’t believe the words had actually left his mouth. It felt like he’d exposed his deepest, darkest secret, only to be met with an incomprehensible silence.
He found himself in a small, quiet park, the kind that was usually empty at this hour. He sank onto a bench, his body shaking as he tried to catch his breath. The cool night air felt both refreshing and harsh against his flushed skin, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside him. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as silent tears fell.
Hours passed, and the weight of his confession felt heavier than ever. He didn’t know what to do now, how to face Rody or Manon again. The fear of they’d react, the shame of his own feelings-it all seemed overwhelming. He had poured his heart out, and now all he felt was a deep sense of dread about the future.
Eventually, the sun began to rise, casting a pale light over the park. Vincent’s tears had dried, leaving his eyes red and swollen. He felt numb, as if the entire night had stripped him of any remaining sense of hope. With a heavy heart, he stood up and started making his way back home, each step feeling like an enormous effort.
When he returned, the house was quiet. Manon was probably still asleep, and Rody was nowhere to be seen. Vincent crept back to his room, trying to avoid any encounters. But even in his own space, the suffocating loneliness was inescapable. The room felt too small, too empty, a constant reminder of his isolation.
Days turned into weeks, and Vincent’s life continued in a muted haze. Manon and Rody were polite but distant, their previous warmth replaced by an uncomfortable awkwardness. It was clear they didn’t know how to deal with what had happened, and Vincent felt their discomfort acutely. He withdrew even more, finding solace in solitude, though it did little to alleviate the crushing sense of rejection.
Despite his attempts to move on, Vincent couldn’t escape the constant reminders of his feelings for Rody. Every interaction, every glance from Rody or Manon, felt like a painful jab. The warmth he had once felt from their presence now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by an ever-present coldness.
Years passed, and Vincent grew older, but the feelings of loneliness and rejection never fully dissipated. He moved out eventually, trying to make a life of his own, but his past was never far behind. The relationships he formed were superficial at best, lacking the depth and connection he had longed for. He excelled in his career, but the success did little to fill the void inside him.
One evening, many years later, Vincent sat alone in his modest apartment, the walls lined with books and mementos of a life lived but not fully experienced. The apartment was tidy, almost clinical in its neatness, a stark contrast to the chaos that often roiled inside his mind.
He looked at a framed photograph on the wall-one from his younger years, showing a happier time with Manon and Rody. They were smiling, their faces filled with genuine joy, a stark contrast to his own reflection now. Vincent ran a finger over the frame, the glass cold against his skin. The image felt like a relic from another life, one that seemed increasingly out of reach.
The phone rang, breaking the silence, and Vincent glanced at it with a sense of resignation. It was another social event he’d been invited to, another attempt to connect with people who didn’t truly understand him. He sighed and let it ring, his gaze returning to the photograph.
The loneliness was a constant companion, and no amount of external success could change that. The ache of unfulfilled love and the sense of being unwanted still lingered, a shadow that followed him wherever he went. Vincent had built a life of sorts, but it was a life marred by the deep scars of his past. The sense of isolation that had started in his teenage years had never truly left him, a persistent reminder of the connections he had lost and the love he had never fully received.
As he sat there, the soft hum of the city outside his window, Vincent realized that he had never really escaped the storm inside him. It had been with him all along, and though he had tried to run from it, it had shaped his life in ways he hadn’t fully grasped. The feeling of being alone, unloved, and unwanted had become an integral part of his identity-a shadow that lingered, a pain that never fully healed and probably never will.
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