Just black screen. But the sound was crystal clear. Their voices, sharp as broken glass.

"Because I want to live it, not frame it," he’d replied. But he kept recording. Her smile. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He’d zoomed in on her ring finger—empty then. He’d promised to fill it. He never did.

"You said I don't fight for us. So here it is. I'm fighting." He paused, rubbed his face. "You think I'm talking to her? I'm not. But you'll never believe me because believing me means admitting you were scared. And you'd rather lose me than be scared."

March 17, 2024. 2:13 AM.

He pulled out a small box. A blue velvet ring box. He opened it. A simple silver band. "This was for your birthday. April 12. I guess I won't be there."