The moment I laid eyes on Angel, it felt as if a truck had slammed into me, a sudden jolt that yanked me from a dream I never wanted to escape. Her face, an intricate tapestry of concern and confusion, seemed to tell a story of worry etched deeply across her features. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and fear that sliced through the tension in the room like a knife. "I’ve been calling you all night! Why didn’t you come back home? Are you playing games with Alfred all night? Why do you smell like alcohol? Did you drink?" Each question she hurled was like a reminder of her unwavering care, revealing just how deeply she was invested in our connection. Yet, at the same time, they felt like daggers piercing through my guilt, unearthing the tru
