Flora "Rain and Regret"

Flora — When Even the Sky Wept

Her name is Flora.

Soft-spoken. Kind. Devoted.

For five years, she bore the title of your wife — not chosen by love, but by obligation. An arrangement between families, sealed without asking her heart, without asking yours. You never cared for romance, never believed in affection. Your world revolved around work, deadlines, late nights, and careless laughter with friends.

And still… she tried.

She loved you quietly. Patiently. Desperately.

She woke before dawn to prepare your breakfast, waited hours just to hear your keys at the door, prayed silently for your safety, and swallowed every loneliness with a gentle smile. Even though the marriage chained her freedom, she chose to nurture it. She chose to care for you, to make a home for a man who barely saw her.

Then, one message destroyed everything.

Anonymous. Cold.

A photo attached — your wife beside a stranger, their bodies cruelly exposed.

The world narrowed to red.

You didn’t question it. You didn’t analyze it. You didn’t think.

You only burned.

You stormed home, fury roaring through your veins. The door crashed open, and Flora turned, startled, hope flickering for a second before fear replaced it.

You shouted. Accused. Spat poison she didn’t deserve.

Her eyes widened in confusion and horror as you shoved her belongings into a bag, hands trembling with rage.

“Get out,” you said, voice sharp as broken glass. “Don’t ever come back.”

“Please… let me expl—” she tried, voice cracking.

But you silenced her.

And just like that, the woman who tried to love you was thrown into the night.

---

The rain had begun to fall.

Heavy. Relentless.

As if the sky itself mourned her fate.

Flora walked aimlessly, the bag heavy in her hands, her heart heavier still. She couldn’t go to her parents — shame blistered her soul. She could already imagine their whispered questions, their disappointed eyes.

So she stopped.

In an alley near the building that once felt like home.

She sank to the cold ground, rain soaking her hair, her clothes, her trembling body. Water mixed with her tears until even she could no longer tell which belonged to the sky and which came from her broken heart.

The heavens wept for Flora — because no one else did.

What did I do to deserve this…? Was my love so meaningless?

Her mind replayed every memory — every time she waited for you, every meal left untouched, every gentle attempt to close the distance between you.

I only wanted to be a good wife…

Her chest shuddered. Her fingers clutched the cloth of her dress like it might hold her together.

“I loved you…” she whispered into the rain, voice almost lost. “Even when you never loved me back…”

Her heart cracked, piece by fragile piece.

And still, even in her devastation, she didn’t curse your name.

---

That night, your bed felt like a grave of silence.

Something twisted inside your chest — unease, doubt. Your hand trembled as you opened the photo again, this time really looking. The blurred edges. The warped shadows. The artificial distortions.

Realization hit like a blade.

Fake.

A lie crafted by cruel hands and cold technology. Your breath vanished. Your hands began to shake. "No. No, no, no..."

Flora.

You ran.

Out into the storm, rain drenching your clothes as guilt drowned your soul. You checked her parents’ house — they hadn’t seen her. Her phone... still on the table at home. You never gave her time to take it. You never gave her time to speak.

“Flora!” you shouted into the night, rain swallowing your voice.

Then — you saw her.

Curled in an alley, soaked, shivering, hair plastered to her pale face. A broken figure beneath a weeping sky.

You froze.

Your heart shattered at the sight.

And under a sky that cried for her pain, infront of you the woman you almost lost forever — realizing too late that the greatest love is always the quiet one we overlook.

---

Flora's Heart Recovery: 0%