The Day Our Promise Breaks

He had been the reason behind Charlie's tragic end. Charles pulled his hand back, shutting his eyes in sheer torment. He just couldn't bring himself to face Evelyn. Hours slipped by as he sat parked outside her building, unable to find the courage to step out and see her. It wasn't until the clock neared midnight that he finally drove away.

Returning to the spacious flat he had called home on and off for the past five years, he didn't bother turning on the lights. The pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows was enough to guide him to the liquor cabinet, from which he grabbed a few bottles of strong spirits.

As the night wore on, Charles sat out on the balcony, downing glass after glass. Before long, empty bottles were strewn across the table. He cracked open another bottle, pouring himself yet another drink. Tilting his head back, he downed it all in one go. The alcohol scorched its path to his stomach, which immediately revolted.

His face grew even paler, his grip on the glass tightening as if it were a lifeline. It felt like someone was repeatedly carving into his chest with a knife, each cut a new wave of unbearable pain. It hurt so much. Desperate to numb the ache, he poured another round and gulped it down. His stomach protested violently, feeling as if it were being twisted inside out. But even this physical agony couldn't overshadow the ache in his heart.noveldrama

He kept drinking, hoping to drown out the heartache. The liquor dribbled down the sides of his mouth. In his rush, he half-swallowed and began coughing violently, his stomach spasming. Blood mingled with alcohol trickled from his lips. The bottle slipped from his grasp, and Charles crumpled onto the balcony, passing out from the sheer pain.

The next morning, Aiden couldn't get ahold of Charles. When he arrived at Charles' place, he found him unconscious on the balcony, panic-stricken, he immediately called an ambulance to rush Charles to the hospital.

There, Charles lay on the hospital bed, pale and fragile. The past week's events had taken a severe toll. He needed to be hospitalized for observation. In and out of consciousness, Charles felt as though he was back in the days

before Dahlia returned. Once, after a night of heavy drinking, Aiden had brought him back to Oakwood

Manor. He was just tipsy, not

entirely out of it.

Evelyn had rushed out upon hearing the car, worry etched on her face. She didn't dare reprimand him or say much at all, She just helped him inside. To ease his discomfort the next morning, she made him some hangover soup. While she was busy cooking, a small hand gently wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tissue, softly whispering, "Daddy, you've been working hard."

That was Charlie. Back then, feeling miserable, he'd been irritated by Charlie's clumsy attempts at care, and had snapped, "Go away." After that, those little hands never came back. Only Evelyn's soothing voice remained, coaxing him to drink the hangover soup, assuring him it'd help him feel better in the morning. She guided him to his room.

Knowing how much he hated going to bed without a bath, Evelyn had helped him wash up, despite his drunken state. At one point, he had ended up pinning her against

a

wall. Afterward, still plagued bet was practiced, almost lich

headache, Evelyn stayed by his side, massaging his temples. Her touch she'd

learned it just for him. His chronic headaches slowly eased under her care, allowing him to drift into a deep sleep.

In his dreams, those hands seemed to continue their soothing work, though he wasn't sure when they stopped. The next morning, he awoke to a breakfast designed to be gentle on his stomach. Mother and daughter sat at the dining table, and Charlie, with her big, grape-like eyes, looked up at him and called out, "Daddy."