1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Daniella

I read in a book once that the only kind of news that cannot wait is bad news.

I got to understand that firsthand when I was fifteen. It was a Tuesday night, or maybe I should call it Wednesday, since it was already three a.m. when we got the call that my father had been in a terrible car accident.

I still remember that night vividly, the somber walk to my mom’s room to break the news to her. I still wish that I hadn’t picked up the call on my mother’s phone. I would have liked to avoid hearing the news first.

My parents had been divorced since before I was born and we only ever saw each other when they dropped me off at the other parent’s house.

I remember my mother’s solemn eyes and her instant tears. I remember her clutching the sheet and then reaching to fold my hands in hers.

“Oh Dani, I'm so sorry,” she had said to me that night.

I was terrified of late-night calls after that. Every time I went to my room for the night, I would lie awake, waiting for the sound of the phone ringing off the hook while also praying that it would remain silent.

The next time the phone rang at three a.m., it was four years later. This call was because my mom had lost her fight with leukemia and died. However, it was also the night I met Jeremy.

When my ringtone shattered the current fragile silence of the night, it dragged me from the depths of an uneasy sleep and dreams of nights best forgotten. The first thought that came to my mind is the fact that I hate being woken up this way.

I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen in the dim glow. It says that it’s 2:43 AM, and the number is unknown. My heart pounds in my chest. No one calls at this hour with good news.

"Hello?" My voice is thick with sleep and a growing sense of dread.

"Is this Daniella Morgan?" a stern, unfamiliar voice asks.

"Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?"

"This is Officer Ramirez from the CPD. Are you sitting down, Ms. Morgan?"

I sit up, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "Yes, I’m sitting down. What is this about?"

"We have some news about Jeremy Foster. I'm afraid it's serious."

The world stops. My heart races, my mind grasping at straws. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Morgan. We found your contact in Jeremy’s phone. He was involved in an incident tonight, and he didn't make it."

"No...no, that can't be. There must be some mistake."

"I’m truly sorry. We need you to come to the morgue to confirm his identity."

I hang up, my hands trembling uncontrollably. I sit in the darkness, the words echoing in my head. Jeremy is dead. My Jeremy. The love of my life. The man I was going to marry. How can he be gone?

I force myself to move, each action feeling mechanical and distant. I throw on the first clothes I can find and rush out of the apartment. The night air is cool, but I don't feel it.

My thoughts are a whirlwind and fear grips me as I drive through the empty streets of Los Angeles. The city lights blur past me, each one a distant, mocking reminder of life moving on for other people.

When I arrive at the morgue, it stands stark and cold against the night sky. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow on everything. Officer Ramirez meets me at the entrance, his face a mixture of professional sympathy and fatigue.

"Ms. Morgan, please follow me," he says gently.

We walk through long, silent hallways. The scent of antiseptic is strong, mingling with a coldness that seeps into my bones. We pass rows of stainless steel doors, each one a grim reminder of mortality. My heart races with every step, dreading the moment I know that is coming.

We stop at a door and Ramirez nods to an attendant who pulls out a drawer. A sheet covers the body, leaving only the outline visible. With a gentle nod from Ramirez, the attendant lifts the sheet.

I stagger back, my breath catching in my throat. It’s Jeremy. His face is pale, almost serene, but the unmistakable stillness of death is there. Tears blur my vision as I reach out, my fingers grazing his cold cheek.

"Jeremy...no," My voice is a broken whisper, my heart shattering with each word.

Officer Ramirez looks away, giving me a moment of privacy. The attendants leave the room, closing the door behind them. My sobs echo in the sterile silence. I clutch Jeremy's lifeless hand, my tears falling onto his cold skin.

"Why…..I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry..." I whisper over and over, my heart breaking with each breath.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally start to run out of tears. My legs feel weak and unsteady. I wipe my eyes. Ramirez re-enters the room, his expression somber.

"Do you need a ride home, Ms. Morgan?" he asks softly.

I shake my head. "No, I’ll manage. Thank you."

The drive back home feels like an eternity. The world outside moves on, indifferent to my pain. When I finally step into the apartment, it feels hollow and lifeless, just like me. Jeremy's things are scattered around, untouched. His shirt hangs on the back of a chair, his scent still lingering in the air.

I collapse onto the couch, clutching his shirt to my chest. The tears come in waves, each one bringing a new depth of sorrow.

My grief is a tempest, threatening to consume me entirely.

As the sun rises on this first day without Jeremy, I’m left alone with my heartbreak, struggling to breathe under the weight of my loss.

Hours blur into days as I navigate the fog of grief. Friends and family come and go, their words of comfort a distant echo in my heart.

I eat when prompted, sleep when exhaustion finally overwhelms me and I wake to the harsh reality of Jeremy's absence. The apartment feels cavernous, filled with memories that haunt every corner.

One morning, weeks after Jeremy's death, I wake with his shirt still clutched in my arms. The fabric is worn, familiar against my skin.

I bury my face in it, seeking solace in the lingering scent of him. It’s a mix of sandalwood and the faint tang of his cologne, a scent that once brought comfort but now serves as a painful reminder.

I force myself to rise, to face another day without him. The routine of survival takes over—shower, dress, eat—each action a mechanical response to the emptiness gnawing at my soul. I avoid looking at our photos, afraid of the raw grief that threatens to overwhelm me.

Days meld into nights as I wander through the labyrinth of mourning. There are moments when I forget, when the weight of loss lifts for a fleeting instant.

But those moments are always followed by a crashing wave of reality, dragging me back into the depths of sorrow.

I often find myself standing by the window, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. Jeremy loved this view, the way the skyline shimmered against the night sky. His absence is a palpable ache, a void that refuses to be filled.

***

His funeral is a simple affair. We gather at the St. Andrews cemetery where a grave has already been dug.

It’s just a small gathering of his co-workers and friends to pay their last respects. Like me, he was all alone in the world. I couldn’t face a bigger crowd of mourners than that..

Carlton, his best friend from the office, taps my shoulder and pulls me in for a brief hug.

“I'm sorry Dani. Jeremy was one of the good ones.”

“Yes, he was.” My voice probably sounds waterlogged from all the tears I've cried, but I can't seem to stop.

“If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know. I'm here for you.”

I nod, he gives my shoulder a squeeze and walks away. I walk on legs that don't feel like mine and I settle onto a bench.

“Hey.”

I look up to see Renee looking down at me.

She is the closest thing to a friend that I have. We've known each other for a few years now because we work together at the advertising agency.

I try to smile, but the effort is useless. I don’t remember how to smile.

“Here.”

I look at the cup she's holding and raise my eyebrows.

“Chamomile tea. Figured you’d need something calming in the midst of all this chaos.”

I take the mug from her and set it on my lap.

“Thanks.” I’m not going to drink it, not because I don’t want to, but because since that night, my stomach has clamped shut and refused to open. It’s like my appetite has grown legs and run away from me.

She sighs and lowers her body onto the bench beside me.

“I always thought the two of you were a strange couple.”

I look at her in surprise.

“Should I be offended?”

“That’s up to you, but I didn’t mean it to be offensive. I just meant that…the two of you weren’t really all that compatible from the outside looking in. But you two didn’t care about the norm and it was obvious in the way you interacted. It was clear that you loved one another so much.”

I stare at her for a few seconds. Her red hair is hanging loose down her back, and her gray eyes don’t give away what she’s thinking.

“Um… I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“What I’m trying to say is that, love like that doesn’t die. You know how couples say ‘til death do us part? Some religions believe that death is only the beginning of our story.” She looks at me with a small smile. “Maybe you and Jeremy’s story is just beginning.”

“Thank you, Renee. That's a beautiful thing to say.” I don’t know if I understood it, but Renee is always full of new-age ideas. I’ve come to expect it from her.

“Sure,” she says with a smile. “I've been accused of being unable to properly articulate my thoughts in the past. I'm glad that didn't happen this time.”

I almost smile, but again, the effort is too much.

She’s beautiful, I think as I stare at her, trying to think of something to say. How have I never truly noticed it until this moment?

I’m distracted by a car pulling up by the road.

The funeral is already wrapping up. Everyone who should be here is here, but the car stops right by us.

It’s a sleek number, a black Mercedes that probably cost more than I could earn in two or three years of paychecks.

Two men step out of the vehicle and they are tall, so tall. They also look similar in their black suits and ties and with their matching black hair and beards. They look menacing, and my heart freezes in my chest.

“Oh dear,” Renee says, and I turn toward her.

“Who are…”

“I'll be right back Dani,” she says before I can complete my question. I watch the men walk up to the newly erected tombstone and I give them a minute to pay whatever respects they came here to take care of. Then I approach them.

“Excuse me, I'm not sure I know you.”

The two men exchange glances and then the slightly taller one steps forward.

“Massimo Ranieri.”

He stretches his hand out and I stare at it, confused for a second before taking it.

“Daniella. Who are you?”

“We were friends of Jeremy,” the man says, and I stare at the two of them with confusion. I have never seen them before. They can’t have been friends with Jeremy.

“I’ve met all his friends and I’ve never met you two. Where did you know him from?”

They exchange another look and my goodness, they couldn’t have been more suspicious if they were waving flags announcing just how suspicious they are being.

“We met in college. Have a good day.”

Before I can get another word in, the men slip back into their car and drive off.

“Do you know who those people are?” I turn to face Renee, wondering when she showed up next to me.

“Um…no. But they said they were friends of Jeremy’s.”

“Hmm. Okay, I have to leave now, but please call me if you need anything, even if it’s just someone to talk to.”

I nod and my friend envelopes me in a big hug that feels surprisingly good. Then she takes off.

It isn't until I'm in bed later that night, staring at the empty space that Jeremy would normally be occupying, that I remember what the men said. They said that they knew Jeremy from college.

There’s just one problem with that.

Jeremy’s parents died when he was twelve. He was tossed around between distant family members before finally entering the foster system at fifteen. He ran away from his foster parents because they were abusive and only cared about the welfare checks they were cashing each month.

He had struggled to get through high school due to all the upheaval of the foster system and being on his own at such a young age. He took the GED at twenty-one and got a job working at a small accounting firm before he met me.

Jeremy never went to college.