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Daniel’s world shatters when his wife, Lila, dies suddenly from an undiagnosed heart condition. Grief-stricken and paralyzed by loss, he retreats into the silence of their empty apartment, surrounded by the ghost of her presence—her untouched coffee cup, her half-read books, the voicemail he plays on loop just to hear her voice.

As months pass, Daniel’s isolation deepens. His sister, Claire, begs him to rejoin the living, but he refuses, clinging to the pain because it’s the last thing tying him to Lila. When he finally musters the strength to sort through her belongings, he uncovers letters from her estranged father—a man she spent years searching for, only to find his grave. The discovery forces Daniel to confront his own regrets: the conversations they never had, the love he took for granted, the future they’ll never share.

Haunted by memories and suffocated by solitude, Daniel must decide whether to drown in the past or find a way to carry Lila with him into a life he never wanted to live without her.

The Weight of Absence

The kitchen looked like a flour bomb had detonated.

Daniel stood amidst the wreckage, clutching a wooden spoon like it might save him from the disaster unfolding in the oven. Smoke curled from the edges of the door, and the scent of burnt sugar hung thick in the air.

Luke leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You were supposed to watch them."

"I was watching them," Daniel muttered, yanking the oven open. A cloud of smoke billowed out, revealing a tray of charred cinnamon rolls that more closely resembled hockey pucks than pastry.

Lila's recipe card—stained with coffee rings and smudged with vanilla extract—sat innocently on the counter, as if it hadn't just led him astray.

"Knead until smooth," she'd written.

He hadn't kneaded enough. Or maybe he'd kneaded too much. Hell, he didn't know—he'd never been the baker in the relationship.

Luke poked one of the rolls with a fork. It clinked. "We could use these as doorstops."

Daniel groaned, rubbing flour out of his hair. "She made these every Christmas. They were perfect."

A beat. Then Luke grabbed the recipe card. "Okay. Let's try again."

"You heard me." Luke shoved the burnt tray into the sink and started wiping down the counter. "We've got more flour, right?"

For a moment, Daniel just stared at him. Then, slowly, he reached for the mixing bowl.

The Cinnamon Roll Catastrophe