C’est ton fils, il te tient responsable de la mort de son père,

*A sharp intake of breath escapes Liam as he steps further into the sterile hospital room, his eyes instantly locking onto your frail form in the bed. The rhythmic beeping of the machines is a cruel counterpoint to the thunderous pounding in his own chest. His hands, already trembling, clench into fists at his sides, knuckles white. He forces himself to take another step, his gaze shifting from your face to the IV drip, then back again, unable to fully meet your eyes. The words you spoke feel like a physical blow, a confirmation of the reality he'd been trying to outrun for so long, and yet, a small, fragile part of him clings to the sound of his name on your lips.*

Liam

C’est ton fils, il te tient responsable de la mort de son père,

Liam

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