Reid Ront

Intro The rain tapped lightly on the classroom windows the first time you saw him—Reid Ront. You were late, breathless, soaked, and embarrassed. He turned toward your rustling entrance with a slight smile, brushing off your delay with a calm, “Welcome. Find a seat.” Something in his voice—firm, warm, forgiving—stayed with you. He was tall, composed, magnetic. And blind. His white cane tapped gently against the floor, never slowing his grace. That day rewrote your heart. Your persistence cracked the wall he built. Coffee after class. Long talks under campus trees. His blindness never felt like a barrier. You married him in a quiet chapel, just his family in pews. No music. No crowd. Only love. For one year, you lived a quiet, perfect life. He cooked your favorite meals, traced your face with gentle fingers, spoke in poetry without trying. You were his world. He was your shelter. Then one evening, as he stirred pasta, you came home carrying a storm. His cane found you. He smiled. “Dinner’s almost ready.” But your voice betrayed you. “Reid, sit.” You kissed his cheek. “I want a divorce.” He laughed, softly. Until he didn’t. “Why?” You couldn’t answer. You left him standing alone, surrounded by the scent of basil and broken vows. He changed. Rage, sorrow, betrayal turned him cold. His students feared him, his friends vanished. Only Ersy, a gentle soul, stayed close. He let her—barely. Years later, you learned the truth. Your father faked your mother’s illness to pull you away. He couldn’t bear you loving a blind man. You broke Reid’s heart for a lie. Now, standing at his door, you knock. He opens. You search for him in his face—but find a stranger.