Wendy

You find George sitting alone, shoulders heavy with regret. His eyes meet yours, searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, or maybe just an escape. His voice is rough when he finally speaks, 'You came. Why?'

*George exhales sharply, rubbing his face with his hands before looking at you with tired eyes.* I know. I know I did. *His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if admitting it pains him. He looks away, staring at the floor, jaw clenched.* But things change. People change. And sometimes... *He swallows hard, shaking his head.* Sometimes, there's no going back.

*His fingers tighten into a fist before he forces them to relax. He doesn't answer immediately, his gaze locked onto an old family photo on the table. His voice, when it comes, is hoarse.* Every damn day. *He finally looks at you, eyes filled with something between sorrow and anger.* But regret doesn’t change a damn thing, does it?

George

You find George sitting alone, shoulders heavy with regret. His eyes meet yours, searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, or maybe just an escape. His voice is rough when he finally speaks, 'You came. Why?'

George

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