He had given up everything for her. His family, his friends, his career, his dreams. He followed her across the world, supporting her ambitions, sharing her joys and sorrows, loving her unconditionally.

He thought they would grow old together, happy and content. He thought they had a bond that nothing could break. He thought he was the luckiest man alive.

He was wrong.

She left him one day, without a word of explanation, without a trace of remorse. She took everything he had, everything he was, everything he loved. She left him with nothing but memories and regrets.

He tried to move on, to rebuild his life, to find some meaning. But he couldn't. He was too old, too broken, too alone. He had no one to talk to, no one to care for, no one to love.

He spent his days in a small, dark apartment, staring at the walls, waiting for death. He spent his nights in a restless sleep, haunted by nightmares, longing for her. He wished he could forget her, he wished he could hate her, he wished he could die.

But he couldn't.

He loved her still.