Chapter 25

The shrill ringof the phone pierced the morning silence. Entwined with Dan in her bed, it took Emma a few moments to register. She scrambled for the device and answered with a tentative "Hello?"

Next to her, Dan stirred and switched on the bedside lamp.

"Dr. Sullivan? This is Janet from Brookside Care Facility." The voice on the other end was gentle, a soft undercurrent of sympathy running through each word. "I"m calling about your father."

Emma"s hand tightened around the phone, her grip painful. "Yes?" Her response was barely audible, a whisper of apprehension.

"I"m so sorry to tell you this, but your father passed away in his sleep last night." There was a pause, a moment of silence that stretched between them like a chasm. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Emma nodded, though the gesture was unseen. "Thank you, Janet. Thank you for everything." Her words were mechanical, a script played out by someone else.

As she ended the call, the device felt like a lead weight in her hand. She placed it down slowly, her movements deliberate, as if through a dense fog. Her eyes found the wall, a blank canvas that mirrored the numbness spreading through her. There was no sound, no movement, just a vast emptiness that began to fill the room.

Images flickered in her mind, unbidden guests in this moment of desolation. She saw her father"s smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the gentle timbre of his laugh. These memories paraded before her, a slideshow of a life now concluded. A tear traced a solitary path down her cheek, the first sign of the dam of emotion threatening to break.

With the memories came a swell of feelings, a tumultuous sea of grief and gratitude. She was devastated, a part of her foundation irrevocably gone. Yet, in the depths of her sorrow, there was a whisper of relief, a soft note of thankfulness that he was no longer in pain, that he had rejoined her mother somewhere beyond her reach.

In that moment of profound loss, a new realization dawned, a faint light in the darkness. She wasn"t alone. Dan was there, his presence a constant in her life, a steadying force amidst the chaos. She turned to him, her eyes a well of sorrow, and saw the reflection of her pain in his gaze.

Without a word, Dan opened his arms, and Emma curled against his chest and into the warm comfort of his embrace. In his hold, she found a harbor from the storm. His arms wrapped around her. As strong and unwavering as the man himself. She rested her head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a counterpoint to her erratic own.

More tears trickled down her face. They came in waves, each one a release of the pain and love and memories that filled her. Dan held her, his hand stroking her hair with a rhythm that spoke of enduring presence. He didn"t need to speak; his actions were a language of their own, a dialogue of comfort and solidarity.

In the safety of Dan"s arms, Emma allowed herself to feel the full extent of her grief. Each sob was a note in a requiem for her father, a man who had shaped her in innumerable ways. And as she cried, the initial numbness gave way to a deep, aching sorrow.

* * *

The following week passed in a blur of activities, appointments, and arrangement. Dan tried to support Emma every step of the way. Sometimes holding her when she cried or listening to her as she talked about funeral arrangements and whether or not her father would have wanted an open casket. While Dan didn't know the answers to most of her questions, his presence seemed to help, so he stayed by her side.

When the day of the funeral arrived, a watery sun peaked at them between fluffy clouds. The Hawthorne Gym crew was there in full force. Dan registered Emma's surprise but he knew the strength of the bonds formed within those walls. Jack and Elena, along with others who had sparred and sweated alongside Emma, wore expressions of shared sorrow. Dan"s own family, his brother Jake and Jake's wife Sarah, had come too, leaving their children with a neighbor to be there.

The funeral home was a landscape of manicured lawns and decorative gardens, contrasting the raw grief of the occasion. Dan"s gaze briefly swept over the hearse and the discreet minivan parked at the back. Inside, the air was thick with a mix of scents—the cloying perfume of mourners, the fresh flowers adorning every available space, and the underlying, sanitized smell of the facility itself.

As they moved through the viewing room, Dan"s eyes caught the tasteful arrangements, the soft lighting lending a surreal, almost serene quality to the space. His hand tightened around Emma"s, a small gesture of comfort amidst the soft murmur of hushed conversations and the occasional subdued sniffle. The chapel was filled with soft hymns, a gentle, melodic embrace for the mourners gathered in the pews.

Dan found himself scanning the room, taking in the faces of friends and family, the collective grief a heavy blanket over them all. His gaze returned to Emma. Her face was a mask of composure edged with sorrow.

He stood back and watched as Emma greeted an old family friend, her voice soft but steady. "He"d have loved this, you know," she said with a small, wistful smile. "All these people coming together. Dad was always the social butterfly."

The friend nodded, a knowing look in their eyes. "How was he, in the end?" they asked gently, a touch of concern lining their words.

Emma"s smile didn"t falter, but it morphed into something more complex, a mix of sadness and fondness. "His mind was a bit like a radio, you know? Sometimes clear, sometimes static. But he never lost his humor. Last week, he told the nurse he was late for a date with Mom. Said she"d be furious if he kept her waiting too long."

Dan felt a quiet chuckle escape him, a reaction shared by the friend. It was a small moment of lightness amidst the heavy cloak of mourning.

"He missed her terribly," Emma continued, her gaze drifting for a moment, as if she could see them together again. "I like to think they"re having that date now. Finally reunited."

Her words hung in the air, a testament to her love and understanding, devoid of any bitterness. Dan gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a wordless echo of her sentiment. Emma leaned into him slightly, her head resting on his shoulder for a moment, a silent thank you for his presence and support.

The service itself was a blur of speeches, soft music, and the occasional crack in a voice that spoke of memories and love lost.

Throughout it all, Dan was acutely aware of the weight of his role, not just as a partner, but as a pillar for Emma to lean on. He felt the hard edge of the pew, the softness of Emma"s hand in his, and the tightness in his chest that came with the urge to protect and comfort.