In the quiet corners of my mind where memories flicker like dying light, I whisper the truth I never say aloud He’s not the villain… I am. The door was closed once. I remember the lock, the silence, the fragile peace that lived there. But I turned the handle. Now shadows move through the hallway again, glass bottles breathe on the table, and his voice echoes like a storm that somehow knows my name. Maybe monsters don’t break in. Maybe sometimes they’re the ones we invite back with shaking hands and hopeful hearts. So I sit in the dark with the question was he ever the villain, or was the real mistake believing he could be something else? 🌙