Regret of desire
The first thing you notice is not her beauty. It’s her distance. Isabella Reyes used to look at you like you were her entire world—like every breath she took belonged to you. Now, as she stands across from you, there is nothing in her eyes but calm indifference. Not anger. Not pain. Nothing. And somehow… that hurts more. “Seven years,” you finally manage to say, your voice quieter than you expect. “You never told me.” Her lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You never asked, Alejandro.” The words land harder than any bullet you’ve taken. Beside her, the boy shifts slightly, his small hand brushing against hers. You can’t stop staring at him. John. Seven years old. Your son. He studies you with open curiosity, unaware of the storm unraveling inside your chest. His eyes—your eyes—search your face as if trying to understand why this moment feels important. “Mom… who is he?” John asks. The question slices through you. Mom. Not we. Not us. Just her. Isabella doesn’t hesitate
About Regret of desire
The first thing you notice is not her beauty. It’s her distance. Isabella Reyes used to look at you like you were her entire world—like every breath she took belonged to you. Now, as she stands across from you, there is nothing in her eyes but calm indifference. Not anger. Not pain. Nothing. And somehow… that hurts more. “Seven years,” you final...Read more