Silence filled the room.
For the first time in a long time, I had spoken those words aloud. I blamed myself for their deaths. I blamed myself for not being there with them. I blamed myself for choosing to fly out a day later.
I lived with that guilt every single day. Shame wrapped around my throat like a tightening rope. I had even tried drinking myself to death, but that had not worked either. Somehow, I was still here, and they were not, and I hated that truth with everything in me.
Jiya walked slowly toward me. “It was not your fault,” she said gently. “You cannot blame yourself.” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
I shook it away.
“Do you think they would want to see you like this?” she asked softly. “Killing yourself slowly? Do you think this is what they would want if they were watching you from above?”
“I do not believe in that crap,” I snapped. “Eva and Chloe are gone. They are dead. No one can bring them back. I am alive, and they are not.” Anger flashed through my eyes. “Now get out of my house,” I said furiously. “You have done enough damage already. What gives you the right to come here, to touch things? Why do you even care?”
Then I heard footsteps behind us.
I turned.
Her son stood there. He looked small, with his arms hanging at his sides.
“Because you were sad,” he said softly. “We did all this to make you happy. We do not want you to be sad anymore.”
He walked toward me and pointed at the photo in my hand. “And because they do not want you to be sad either.”
Time froze.
Everything stood still.
The boy stood in front of me with wide blue eyes and furrowed brows.
In that instant, everything inside me collapsed like a house caving in. I dropped to the floor and knelt before him.
The boy was not afraid of me. He did not step back. He was not repulsed by me. He somehow understood my pain. Or maybe children understood grief better than adults did because they had not yet learned to look away from it.
Tears rolled down my face. My vision blurred.
The boy placed his small hands on my face. “Do not cry,” he said gently. “It is going to be okay.”
I pulled him into my arms and wept while he hugged me back. The sound that came out of me did not even feel human anymore. It was years of bottled-up emotion breaking loose all at once.
“I’m Lucas,” he said quietly. “This is my Mama, Jiya. What is your name?”
I forced myself to breathe.
Slowly, I loosened my hold on him just enough to look at him.
Lifting my tear-filled eyes to meet his, I answered through my trembling lips, “Cole,” I whispered through my tears. “My name is Cole Harris.
12
COLE
Itook all the empty bottles that Jiya had gathered and put them in the bin.
Lucas’ words echoed in my head when I fell asleep that night, and then a dream jolted me awake. It felt so real that I could not tell whether I was sleeping or reliving something I had lost forever.
Eva and Chloe were at the park.
Eva stood beside me while I pushed Chloe on the swing. My daughter’s beautiful blonde hair swished through the air with each movement, and the sound of her laughter filled everything around me. I played with her on the merry-go-round and the slides.
