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He was thirty-two years old and felt as if he had already reached the end of his life.
Every morning, he got up at the same time, put on the same gray shirt, and left the apartment without even knowing why he still bothered. He was an employee—replaceable, unremarkable, overlooked. In his boss's eyes, he was a mistake that should never have been hired. Every workday was a sequence of condescending looks, passive-aggressive comments, and the constant fear of being replaced.
At home, it was no better. His family laughed at him.
"You haven't accomplished anything," they said, half-joking, half-serious.
Sometimes he laughed along—not because it was funny, but because it was easier to pretend it didn't hurt.
He had no friends. No one to whom he could explain how empty everything felt. No one who would listen. No one who would stay.
And then there was his wife.
Or at least, the woman he thought he knew.
After an especially brutal shift—overtime, accusations, another public scolding from his boss—he wandered through the city in a daze. The rain had started, but he hardly noticed. His shoulders slumped, his gaze was vacant. He just wanted to go home. Sleep. Forget.
When he passed a restaurant, he stopped.
Inside, behind the glass, sat two people he recognized immediately.
His wife.
And his boss.
She laughed. A real laugh. One he hadn't heard from her in months. Then she leaned forward—and kissed him.
The world around him went silent.
His heart began to race, his hands trembled. Without thinking, he took a step forward. Another. He wanted to go in. Wanted answers. Wanted to scream. Wanted to end everything.
---
He froze.
His foot didn't take the next step.
His hand didn't open the door.
Something inside him… simply broke.
Not with a loud bang.
Not with anger.
Not with tears.
Just with a quiet, weary realization:
He couldn't.
Not today.
Not like this.
The voices inside the restaurant blurred behind the glass. Her laughter, the clinking of glasses, the muffled conversation of his boss—it all felt distant, as if he were watching a scene from a stranger's life.
He turned around.
Slowly.
The rain fell harder on the streets, but he barely noticed. His steps were heavy, mechanical, as if his body were replaying a program it had executed a thousand times before.
Go home.
Take off your shoes.
Sleep.
Life demanded no more anyway.
---
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
He set his wet shoes in the hallway, dropped his jacket over a chair, and walked into the living room. He didn't even turn on the light. The gray dusk of the city filtered through the windows, bathing everything in a cold, pale blue.
He sank onto the sofa.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he ran both hands over his face and let out a bitter laugh.
"What a shitty life…"
His voice was rough.
"The boss hates me… family thinks I'm a joke… no friends… and my own wife…"
He swallowed.
"…is cheating on me with my boss."
He leaned his head against the sofa back and stared at the ceiling.
"Honestly… universe…"
He laughed again, empty this time.
"If you want to screw me over, just say it."
His fist clenched.
"What did I even do wrong, huh?"
No answer.
Of course not.
There never was one.
After a while, he stood. The apartment suddenly felt tighter, as if the air itself pressed down on his shoulders.
He went to the balcony.
The cold night air hit him as he opened the door.
The rain had eased, but the sky still hung dark over the city. Below, cars passed, their headlights reflecting on the wet streets.
He leaned on the railing.
"Thirty-two years…"
he murmured.
"And that's it?"
He looked down, several floors below. People walked by, without looking up. Each lived their own life. No one knew he was here.
No one would have noticed.
A tired sigh escaped him.
"Maybe… it would've been easier if I had never been born."
In that moment—
CRACK.
A dry, ominous sound.
He furrowed his brow.
"…what—"
KRRRRAAACK.
The balcony beneath him gave way.
His eyes widened.
"W—"
Then the concrete broke.
The floor vanished beneath him.
For a single moment, he felt weightless, as the world spun and the cold wind ripped past him.
The city rushed toward him.
One last thought flashed through his mind.
…Of course.
Then—
BLACK.
A gentle light seeped through the veil of unconsciousness as he crawled out of the darkness. Everything was foreign, soft, and warm. The cold and hardness of the city, the rain, the concrete—everything was gone. Instead, he felt the cozy warmth of a cradle gently rocking beneath him, the soft murmur of a voice, and a familiar heartbeat that calmed him.
His eyes opened slowly. The first thing he saw was his father's face—strong, yet soft, filled with love and pride. Beside him stood his mother. Her features were gentle, hair dark and flowing like liquid, eyes radiating warmth and safety. Her smile was pure, honest, full of hope. For a moment, he knew: she would do anything for her children.
Then he noticed his siblings. An older brother, looking curiously at the cradle as if he wanted to protect little Archeyeus immediately. A younger sister, holding their mother's hand, shy but with sparkling eyes full of curiosity and vitality. They laughed and moved freely, their laughter bright and clear—a music that strangely touched his heart.
And Archeyeus? He felt it all at once. The burden of his old life, the despair, the loneliness, the betrayal—all of it still there, deeply rooted, a bitter taste in his soul. Yet at the same time, there was a flicker of hope. A spark that maybe this time could be different. That he could start over—stronger, wiser, more careful, and perhaps… happier.
He felt the warmth of his family, his father's heartbeat, his mother's gentle touch. It was overwhelming. So much life, so much love—something he had never known in his previous life. A bitter smile crept onto his lips.
"Thirty-two years… lost everything… and now…," he murmured inwardly, "…here? A second chance?"
He could not say if it was fear, excitement, or simply awe at what he had been given. Perhaps it was all of it. And deep down, he knew: this was the beginning of something bigger than himself.
His father lifted him, held him close to his chest, and Archeyeus felt—for the first time in a long while—that he was needed. Not as an employee, not as a failure, not as a victim of betrayal. But simply as himself.
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