Chapter 46

We're havingChristmas dinner when my phone rings. Mom glares at me. I know I shouldn't answer, especially during a family gathering on this special day, but something in my gut tells me it's urgent. I wish I had brought Ameline here, but with her mom sick, she wouldn't have enjoyed this crowd.

I should've stayed with her. In fact, I almost skipped this, but Piper was insistent and since I didn't have a good excuse to go home and avoid the family . . . Well, here I am, stuck with the Deckers and missing Ameline like crazy.

As we finish eating, I finally check the text lighting up my phone. It's from Ameline.

Ame: Mom died.

Fuck. The word hisses through my mind but stays locked behind my lips. Ameline's alone, grieving. Regret squeezes my lungs. I should have stayed with her.

"Everything okay, Gabe?" Mom's forehead creases.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

She frowns. "Something is wrong, what is it?"

I swallow hard. "Ameline texted me. Her mom just died."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." Mom reaches across the table, her hand covering mine.

"Whose mom died?" Lyric asks.

"Ameline's," I respond.

"Oh, wasn't that your roommate's sister? She was so cool, I hope that we can catch up with her before I have to go back to school." Lyric smiles at first then frowns at her unintentional faux pas. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry for her loss."

I nod in agreement, my throat tightening because what I should have said is, "No. She's my wife. My wife. The woman I love, and I should be with her in this painful moment."

All I can say is, "I'm leaving, so I can check on her." I push back my chair, the legs screeching against the floor.

Mom's hand clamps around my wrist. "But we're still celebrating Christmas. You could check on her tomorrow. Aren't you staying for the night? It's a tradition."

I gently pry away her fingers. "She's alone. There might be a few things I need to help her with."

Mom's brows pinch together. "What about her family?"

"Right now, I'm all she has, Mom."

Mom nods as if understanding. "That makes sense. Call us if you need us, okay?"

I hug her. "Of course."

As I leave, Ameline's text replays in my mind. Mom died.

Fuck. I slam my palm against the steering wheel. She was all alone when it happened. And I wasn't there for her. Some husband I am.

I dial her number as I'm heading home, but she doesn't answer. While gripping the steering wheel, I keep touching the speed dial number repeatedly. My calls continue to go to voicemail. The fear of not knowing what's happening to Ameline is crushing my lungs, and I'm unable to breathe. What if she had a seizure or something worse happened to her? The thought of losing her is terrifying.

Tires squeal as I take a turn too fast. I'm just so desperate to get to her. To wrap my arms around her. I finally pull into the driveway, gravel crunching under my tires. The house seems dark. Not even the front porch lights are on.

My heart aches, picturing her sitting all alone in the dark, grieving without anyone there to hold her hand.

"Ame," I call out when I arrive.

"She's with her mom," Linda, one of the nurses, mumbles.

I make my way through the living room and down the hall to the library. The door is ajar. I peer inside.

Ameline sits on the edge of the bed, head in her hands. Her body shakes with muffled sobs.

"Ame, baby, are you okay?"

"I don't know," she mumbles.

She clings to me desperately, face buried in my chest. I stroke her hair, murmuring words of comfort. Telling her I'm here now. That she's not alone. I regret leaving her two days ago. Why in the world did I think it was okay to just continue the holiday tradition without Ameline? My family might not understand why I married her, and they might not like that I can't just spend time with them, but that's not important. All that matters is Ame.

* * *

The next twodays pass in a blur of paperwork and arrangements. Ameline and I meet with the funeral director to discuss options. Cremation seems the simplest choice.

"We can hold a memorial service later, when you're ready," I suggest gently as we finalize the paperwork.

Ameline nods, eyes distant. She clutches the urn containing her mother's ashes carefully in her lap during the entire drive back to our place.

Once home, Ameline places the urn on the mantle with reverence. She steps back and stares at it for a long moment. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"Where am I supposed to put them?"

"Take all the time you need to decide what to do next," I murmur. "There's no rush."

She lets out a shaky breath and whispers, "I think spreading her ashes somewhere special would be nice. But maybe after my surgery. I want to be clearheaded when I choose the place."

The surgery. In everything that's happened, I nearly forgot it's coming up in just a couple of days.

Ameline turns in my arms to face me, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you for being here. For everything. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I reach to brush away an escaped tear with my thumb. "There's nowhere I'd rather be," I tell her sincerely.

As we stand, I'm struck by the intermingling beauty and fragility that exists between us.

There is something beautiful about our relationship, our love. There's an unbreakable thread that stretches beyond time and space. Yet at the same time, I am reminded of all the uncertainties and fragility of life—how quickly things can change and how powerless we are against it. Before the ocean danced upon the shore and before the stars took their place in the sky, somehow, we already existed. There was a trace of her and me.

Our souls have been one since the beginning of time—even when life wasn't created. We were one, and we're becoming one again. Our connection feels both comforting and daunting all at once. We just need to get through this one last step, her surgery.

We'll be fine, I remind myself.

It's almost over and then I'll spend the rest of our lives making her happy.