Epilogue

Two Months Later

C andyfloss clouds stain the sky with orange whispers, as though the heavens are mourning with me. Nature has its way of painting sorrow into beauty, a cruel joke when the sun has departed but its tender rays still caress the sky, lingering just a bit longer before night's embrace. It's the most breathtaking sunset I've witnessed, yet all it does is highlight the end of something profoundly precious.

The breeze is faint, barely a sigh against the stillness. Flowers sway like they're dancing on their last breath and leaves whisper in the breeze. I can still feel the warmth from the day, but it's a fleeting memory. This sunset is a final bow, a beautiful thing ending, and it couldn't be more true. The one thing I had in this world that was pure, that was undeniably beautiful, was her heart, her soul, her love. All of that was buried four months ago, but it took me two months to remember it, to realise what I lost.

Her love will always be a ghost that lingers, haunting me through every waking moment. But her essence, her radiance, will never again touch this world. I can only hope that in some cosmic life, we might be reunited.

Sitting at the top of the hill, half a bottle of whiskey is sat between my legs, its amber contents are a deceitful comfort. Drinking is a temporary numbness, a fleeting escape from the relentless ache that clenches at my heart. It's the same escape I sought for the first month she died, a desperate attempt to bury my grief in a haze of forgetfulness. I imagine Laelia would scold me for this, her disapproval melting into laughter because she could never stay mad at me for long.

Since the truth came crashing back, my mind has wrestled with the reality I denied. The grief I should have felt sooner has only festered, stretching the pain into a slow, agonising ordeal. It's as though the rug of my life has been yanked out from under me, sending me tumbling down into a spiral of my own making.

We had plans, dreams of a future that has been cruelly snatched away in an instant. I was so wrapped up in the present that I never considered how easily it could all disappear. I wish that I proposed sooner, that we had hurried through our life, so I could have seen her in her white dress walking towards me. But that moment is forever trapped in my dreams, never to be seen.

Grief sits heavy on my chest, a constant, unbearable weight. I blame myself for everything—the accident, her death, the loss of our child. If I hadn't looked at her for that one second more, if I hadn't been distracted by a trivial notification, they might still be here. I would still have my fiancée, and our little one would still be waiting to come into this world. Instead, I'm left with nothing but an empty home and an unfillable void.

I don't believe we ever truly learn to cope with grief. We simply endure, pushing forwards even when every step feels like we are being crushed under the weight of our sorrow. I will always blame myself for what happened, and there may never be a day when that burden lifts.

When they first told me she was gone, I thought they must have been mistaken. I ran to her room, calling her name, only to find her lifeless body, her chest still and her eyes closed. Touching her hand was the moment I knew—she was gone.

The pain that struck me was like ice through my heart, an unbearable, freezing ache that made me drop to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The realisation that I would never see her again, never feel her warmth, never hear her voice, was a blow that shattered my world and still is.

Afterwards, everything blurred. I had hit my head and suffered a concussion, and the added trauma led me to a brief period of amnesia. My doctor recently told me I had Dissociative Amnesia, a mind's cruel trick to shield me from the unbearable truth. My loved ones kept the truth from me, hoping I would come to terms with it on my own, and the struggle has taken its toll.

I have been trying to move forward, knowing that staying in the past will only keep me from healing. To cope with the pain, I've immersed myself in staying busy and finally taken the time off work that I desperately need. As much as I resist it, I know I need to come to terms with my new reality, even though it feels unbearable. Each day brings me closer to her due date, making everything harder, but I push through because I know that's what Laelia would have wanted—even though it's tearing me apart inside.

The house, once a dream of our future, now stands filled with a different life. I redecorated the nursery, filling it with safari animals she loved. Each item, each detail a tribute to what could have been—a room that will never echo with the laughter and love I knew. And then, I put the house up for sale, knowing that living in it would only deepen the wounds I have.

Leaning back against the tree, I glance at my motorbike and a fleeting smile tugs at my lips. The rides we shared, her laughter echoing behind me as we sped down roads, are memories etched into my soul. I remember the way she'd walk into the tattoo parlour just to let me ink her skin with love, the intimate moments we shared and the fire pit nights we shared under the stars. These memories, now distant echoes, are treasures that I cling to, even as they tear me apart to know I'll never experience them again.

If I have to choose one thing I'll miss the most, it would be those eyes—the way they enchanted me every single day. There will never be a time when I don't yearn for anything that reminds me of her, except perhaps for Meatball. Despite my frustration with the cat and his antics, we've grown close—likely because we both need each other to survive the loss we've faced. He lost his mother, and I lost the love of my life and our daughter.

Looking down at my wrist, I see Estella's name freshly inked, the letters still glistening with the weight of permanence. Laelia's name is already there, etched into my skin, but I couldn't bear to leave our daughters unmarked. No matter where life takes me, they will always be with me, forever a part of who I am. But as much as I scream and plead with the universe, longing for them to be beside me, the harsh truth remains—they exist only in my heart and my memories. I'll never see her smile again and never have the chance to meet our daughter and hold her close.

I can't fathom how people manage to move forward after losing someone they love, especially the one they shared their life with. How do you go from sharing every moment, feeling their presence beside you every day, to a life where they're just…gone? It feels like there's a gaping hole in my chest and like a piece of my soul has been torn away. I've lost not just them, but a part of myself, a part of who I was meant to be.

Hearing the roar of two motorbike engines, I turn my head, and there they are—Ethan and Jasper, pulling up and hopping off their bikes. I hadn't expected them to show up here, not when I told them I was just going to sit on our hill, the one Laelia and I claimed as our own. But deep down, I knew. They've been my anchors, always there, every day, for as long as I can remember.

Without a word, they walk towards me, helmets in hand, and sit down on either side of me. Together, we face the setting sun, the sky ablaze with the colours of another day fading away. The silence between us is heavy, yet comforting, a quiet understanding that words would only break.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch Ethan glancing at the bottle of whiskey clutched in my hand. His gaze shifts to me, concern etched across his face. "Are you drinking?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

I turn to him, reading the fear in his eyes. He's seen this before, the darkness that nearly swallowed me whole before the funeral. A part of me longs to drown in that numbness again—to drink, to smoke, to escape—but I can't. No now. That's the road that led me here, to this moment, and I'm tired of walking in circles. I need to find a way forward, no matter how hard it is.

"No," I say quietly, meaning every word. "This is the last bottle of alcohol I own. I don't want to drink anymore."

Ethan doesn't respond; he just turns his eyes back to the horizon. I feel the weight of their presence beside me, the unspoken support, and it's almost too much to bear.

I uncork the bottle, pour out the whiskey, and then look at the sky as if searching for a sign.

I know they're watching me, both of them, waiting. But I can't meet their eyes. If I do, I'll break again.

"She would want me to live," I whisper, my voice barely holding together. "Even though it's without her. So, tonight's the last night I stay trapped in my head. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, I start a new life—a life where she's watching from above, a life where I live for all three of us, not just myself. She'd want me to be happy, even though I can't imagine happiness without her."

Tears blur my vision, and I choke back a sob, fighting the storm of grief threatening to overwhelm me. The sunset blurs before my eyes, but I keep staring, desperate to hold onto this moment.

Laelia was—no, she is—the best thing that ever happened to me. My heart, my home, my light. Not a day will pass where I don't think of her, where I don't feel her presence like a ghost haunting my every breath. She'll forever hold my heart in her hands, until the day I die and we're reunited.

"Laelia, my love," I murmur, the words breaking as they leave my lips, "this life is for us. And I'll see you again. But for now, I have to live this life without you. I'll never have my happy ever after, because you were it."

As the last light of the day fades, I whisper to the wind. "Heaven isn't a place I'll go to…heaven is you. And one day, I'll find you there."