Sigmund's breath stopped and his jaw tensed as he could still smell Maleva's scent across the whole of her room. His eyes misty and wet. The scent that calmed him whenever he felt fearful when he was a boy, the scent that put him to a deep restful sleep whenever he was tired, and the scent that made him feel how much he was loved. He grabbed their family photo that fell off the bedside table. It was their picture; Maleva holding the twins from the left, grinning and Sigmund the last on the right. The twins were younger during this time. Sigmund seated himself on the bed, his tears dripping on the picture frame. He threw the photo beside him and broke down. He bent, gripped his head with both hands and cried harder until his chest tightened and ached. Tears continued to fall as he wailed his pain; the sting of regret was maddening at the thought that he hadn't made her feel how much he truly loves her, he wanted to hold her hand and say I love you very much but it was too late. He wanted all in the world to kiss her on her forehead, yet he was cold to her all these years.
