the wind blows (9)

He steps closer, their fingers almost touching. And then she is gone. The wind rushes back with a vengeance, slamming the door shut and rattling the windows.

The man stands alone in the empty room, his hand still outstretched. The photograph falls from the mantel, the glass shattering on the floor. He sinks to his knees, his shoulders shaking.

The wind continues to howl, but it carries no answers, only questions that will never be resolved. The house creaks and groans, its secrets buried deeper than time itself. The wind blows. It moves through the cracks and crevices, carrying with it the echoes of the past. The man rises slowly, his face hardening.