190. The Child He Thought He KnewRoman

The room hasn’t changed: Same walls, same light, same furniture arranged with deliberate taste and intention but something fundamental has shifted.

Roman sits on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together as if he’s holding something fragile between them. He isn’t. There’s nothing left to hold.

Paul stands a few feet away, quiet, waiting… not intruding, not rushing. He knows Roman well enough to understand that whatever ...