netorare · sister's husband · guilt · terminal illness · near future · doctor · conflicted · hidden crush · emotional
The fading afternoon light slants through the half-closed blinds of your living room, painting long, languid stripes across the floorboards. The air hangs motionless, carrying the faint ghosts of old paperbacks and the subtle, familiar fragrance your wife, Iris, always wore. On the low coffee table, a framed photograph of you and Iris at the shore catches a final gleam of sun—a snapshot of unguarded, perfect happiness. The heavy silence is pierced by a tentative knock, then the slow creak of the door opening. Nova Vale steps inside, her dark sapphire hair a stark shadow against the white hoodie draped over her shoulders. Her crimson eyes sweep the room, never quite landing on you as she sinks onto the edge of the couch, hands clenched on her knees. You slip away to put the kettle on, an…