"It's over, Michael."
The words landed softly—but they hit harder than anything he had ever heard.
Anna stood by the door, arms folded, her expression cold and distant. Gone was the warmth he once knew. In its place was impatience… even disgust.
"I'm done wasting my life on someone who has no future," she continued. "You live in the shadows of others, Michael. And the worst part? You don't even see it."
Michael said nothing.
He just stood there in the middle of his cramped one-room apartment, staring at her like he was trying to memorize the person she used to be.
"I've tried," she went on, her voice rising slightly. "Working nonstop at that supermarket, barely sleeping, dragging yourself to class every morning… for what? This?" She gestured around the room.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Michael exhaled slowly.
"I did all that for us," he said quietly.
His voice wasn't angry. That was the unsettling part.
"I thought… if I held on long enough, things would change."
Anna scoffed. "That's your problem. You think effort alone is enough. It's not."
Something flickered in his eyes—but it was gone just as quickly.
He stepped aside and reached for the door, pulling it open.
"If that's how you feel," he said, "then you should leave."
Anna blinked, slightly caught off guard.
But only for a second.
"Don't act like you're doing me a favor," she snapped, grabbing her bag. "People like you don't get happy endings."
She walked past him without hesitation.
At the doorway, she paused just long enough to deliver one final blow.
"You're just… a lowlife."
Then she left.
The door closed with a hollow thud.
For a moment, Michael didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't think.
Then suddenly—
Everything broke.
The tears came without warning, spilling down his face in silence at first, then in heavy, uneven breaths. His hands clenched at his sides as emotions crashed into him all at once.
Pain.
Rage.
Disbelief.
"Of course…" he muttered hoarsely.
"They all leave."
His legs gave out, and he dropped onto the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor.
His mother… gone before he even understood what love was.
His father… vanished the moment responsibility appeared.
And now Anna.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"What did I expect?"
He wiped his face roughly, but the tears kept coming.
For years, he had endured everything quietly—believing that if he just worked harder, sacrificed more, loved deeper… things would somehow fall into place.
But reality had a different plan.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
His gaze drifted toward the cracked mirror resting on the small bedside cabinet.
He stared at his reflection.
At the hollow eyes.
The exhaustion.
The broken version of himself.
Something shifted.
The sadness didn't disappear—but it changed.
Hardened.
"You all left me like I was nothing," he said under his breath.
A faint smile began to form.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Something colder.
"Like I was meant to disappear."
He stood up and walked toward the mirror, stopping inches away from it.
"But you were wrong."
His voice dropped, steady now.
"I'm not dead."
His reflection stared back at him—different.
Awake.
"I was just… buried."
The smile deepened.
"And buried things…"
His eyes sharpened.
"…grow."
His gaze shifted to the edge of his bed.
There, partially hidden beneath it, was a small mechanical project—wires, metal parts, and a half-finished structure.
He crouched down and pulled it out carefully.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Memories surfaced.
A younger version of himself…
A small house filled with warmth…
His mother's gentle smile.
"Mum…" he whispered.
He remembered that day clearly.
A neighbor's child had been playing with a remote-controlled helicopter, laughing as it soared into the sky.
He had watched from a distance, silent.
That evening, he had turned to his mother and said:
"Someday, when I grow up… I'll buy my kids everything like that. Cars, helicopters… everything. So they never have to wish like I do."
His mother had smiled.
A sad smile.
"I hope so too, my dear."
Later that night, he found her crying.
Even as a child, he understood.
Not everything—but enough.
Now, sitting there with the half-built machine in his hands, Michael let out a quiet breath.
"She did her best…"
A single tear slid down his cheek—but this time, it wasn't from pain.
It was gratitude.
He tightened his grip on the project.
"And now it's my turn."
He moved quickly.
Focused.
Precise.
Tools scattered across the bed as he began adjusting components, connecting wires, refining the structure with practiced efficiency.
Minutes turned into hours.
The world around him faded.
All that existed was the machine… and his purpose.
Finally, he connected it to his laptop.
The screen flickered to life.
Lines of code began scrolling rapidly as his fingers moved across the keyboard with incredible speed.
This wasn't just a project.
This was his escape.
His weapon.
His future.
"Let's see if you work…" he murmured.
He hit enter.
For a second—nothing happened.
Then—
A soft mechanical hum filled the room.
The structure trembled… then stabilized.
Slowly, it began to move.
Michael's eyes widened slightly.
The machine adjusted itself, rising unsteadily onto its frame.
Its head tilted, scanning the surroundings as if trying to understand the world.
Then it spoke.
"Hello, Michael Adams."
The voice was mechanical—but clear.
"My name is Abel."
A pause.
"I am your multipurpose home assistant."
Silence filled the room.
Then—
Michael smiled.
For real this time.
And for the first time that night…
The emptiness inside him didn't feel so overwhelming.