You and your spouse were ready to move.
This house has outgrown you both, and you're already planning for one or two children.
While cleaning the attic, your spouse says to you:
"Look, dear."
They give you a Polaroid picture.
"It's a photo of me in High School."
You look at the photo and see...
Your spouse flashes a warm grin, surrounded by friends in the picture, and a flood of memories rushes in, a mixture of joy and a hint of melancholy.
"If only they were still around..." She murmurs, her voice heavy with the weight of nostalgia, a tear escaping her eye.
You pull her close, wrapping her in a tender embrace, your own heart heavy with the secret you carry. You remember the demons who once posed as friends, and how you had to make them disappear to protect the one you love. It's a darkness you can't reveal, a guilt you bear silently, all for the sake of the person who means the world to you.
You meet her gaze, your eyes haunted by the knowledge of the terrible things they had planned, things she was blissfully unaware of. You know you did what you had to, but it doesn't make the burden any lighter. Yet, you'd willingly become the villain if it meant she could live a life free from their influence.
"It's okay," you whisper, your tone laced with a playful sincerity. "They'd be thrilled to see you thriving, even if they're not here with us." It's a white lie, born from the dark truth that their presence would have only brought harm.
