Tristan

The glass of whiskey in my hand looked amber in the dim light of my study.

Every single time I was brought here because of her.

“Nobody cared about me, not even you,”

Her words burned more than the whiskey ever could. It burned hot and lashed out in anger aimed at her parents. For their harsh unforgiving ignorant and insulting words. But most of all, for myself.

A part of me longed for my past life's memories to the point of desperation but the other side of me feared ...