Gabriel
Today felt hollow. The kind of silence where even the birds knew better than to sing. The sun was out, but it wasn't bright, it was pale, washed. As though even light didn't want to intrude. The countryside roads that led to the memorial grounds were lined with thinned trees, their branches covered in the powder of snow. Elias and I didn't speak the whole drive. We didn't need to.
The cenotaph stood on a wide grassy field, overlooking a quiet river that caught what little sunlight there was and fractured it into dull silver. A temporary canopy had been raised, rows of folding chairs set up in careful lines. Black cloth draped over the stage and podium. Two framed portraits sat side by side on a pedestal- Vivienne, smiling as though she had secrets only she knew, and Iris, clutching her teddy bear, eyes wide with innocence.
I couldn't look at the portraits for long. My chest clenched every time I laid my eyes on them.
People had already begun to gather by the time we arrived. Some familiar, others strangers, colleagues of Vivienne, neighbors, distant relatives, people who had been to too many funerals this month. Elias shook hands, exchanged words, and nodded politely. I kept my eyes low. My role, it seemed, was to be a shadow, not a host.
Before the ceremony began, mourners approached the keepsakes laid out beneath the glass, Vivienne's gold necklace—the one she wore when she said it made her feel "just the right amount of pretty" And Iris's small teddy bear, worn soft from years of hugging. I stood by them for a while, listening to the quiet voices behind me.
"She loved that necklace, didn't she?"
"She wore it to the last company gala…"
And that bear… I remember Iris clutching it when she fell asleep on Vivienne's shoulder."
I pressed my hand flat against the glass, the imprint of their lives staring back at me. Things so simple, so fragile, yet heavier than I could carry.
The service began with slow music from a string quartet, something classical, somber, too careful. Peop;le filed into their seats. A minister I didn't know walked to the podium and spoke about loss, about unity, about how even in death, we gather to honor. The words didn't stick. They were just syllables falling against a wall.
I sat in the front row with Elias. Beside us, a row over I noticed her, Vivienne's sister, Seraphina Draeven. White-blonde hair tied back, posture straight as a blade. She had two bodyguards flanking her, men in dark suits scanning the crowd. She didn't look at me once, though her presence was like a cold draft against my skin.
Friends of Vivi came forward. One spoke of her sharp mind, how she led projects with grace. Another told a story about Iris drawing in a conference room once, and how Vivienne laughed and said, "She'll be a better artist than I am a mother." The crowd chuckled softly, though the sound was fragile, on the verge of breaking.
I held my breath through it all, hands clasped so tight I thought my knuckles might crack.
When it was my turn, my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. I walked to the podium, the eyes of everyone heavy on me. I stared at the paper in my hand—notes I had written, rehearsed—and then folded it and set it aside. Words on paper felt too lifeless for them.
I took a shaky breath.
"Vivienne…" My voice wavered. "She wasn't… She wasn't just my wife. She was my anchor. She was the person who reminded me that the world could be gentle, even when it wasn't. She had this way of making you feel like you mattered, like no part of you was too small to notice. I'd spend hours cooking, and she'd eat like it was the first meal she ever had in her life, just to make me feel proud. That was Vivienne. She… she believed in people, even when they didn't deserve it."
I swallowed hard, blinking fast.
"And Iris…" My chest squeezed. "Iris was my little star. She was… curious about everything. She used to ask me why the moon followed us home, why bread rises, why the dog next door barked at the mailman. She was too smart, too alive, too… too much like her mother. I used to tuck her in every night and she'd tell me. 'Daddy, don't let the nightmares in.' And I promised her I wouldn't. I promised her."
Something cracked inside me.
I gripped the podium. My words tangled into a thought I couldn't push away: They're gone because I wasn't enough. I promised, and I failed.
Tears blurred my vision. I reached up, wiped my face, but more came. I whispered in my head: I'm crying again? I've already cried… Why am I crying? The question echoed, hollow, stupid.
But the answer slammed into me like a fist: Because they're gone. And you can't bring them back
My knees buckled. I hit the floor hard. THe sounds of my sobbing startled the crowd. Hands reached for me, but none of them matters. The grief poured out too fast, too raw. I clawed at my chest as though I could rip the ache out with my bare hands.
Elias was there in an instant. He pulled me close, whispering, "I got you. I got you." My sobs tore through the silence of the crowd. Seraphina watched, her expression unreadable, cold as a marble.
Elias guided me outside, away from the murmurs, away from the states. We sat on a bench under the thin shade of a tree. The air was crisp. My body shook, but slowly, words began tumbling out between sobs.
"I was supposed to grow old with her, Eli. We were supposed to watch Iris grow up. I was teaching her how to cook, how to bake, how to…" My throat tightened. "We talked about taking a trip, you know? Somewhere with beaches. We never went. I thought… I thought we had time."
"You couldn't have known," Elias said quietly.
"I should have." My hands balled into fists. "I should've been enough to protect them. I should've been stronger. And now, I can't even keep my promise to Iris. She told me not to let the nightmares in, Eli. And i let the worst one swallow her."
Elias gripped my shoulder. His voice turned firm, steady. "No, Gabriel. THat's not on you. You hear me? That's on them—the bastards who did this. Not you. And I swear to you, when we rise back up, when we've rebuilt ourselves stronger than before, we'll scream at them, together, "Fuck the devil!"
Despite myself, a broken laugh slipped from my throat. A laugh soaked in pain.
"Fuck the devil," I repeated, voice raw.
"Fuck the devil," Elias echoed, grinning.
We sat there for a long time, the silence heavy but less suffocating now. My tears slowed, though my chest felt hollow, my body dimmed. I wasn't pretending anymore. My grief was carved into the open.
Finally, I wiped my face, my hands trembling. I turned to Elias, pupils wide, cheeks still wet, but I forced a faint smile with my lips.
"Im ready," I whispered. "I'm ready to go back. To send them off."
Elias nodded. He looked out toward the horizon. The sun was setting, bleeding orange and red across the sky. Then his brow furrowed.
"Was there always a black dot in the middle of the sun?" he asked.
I looked up at the sun, it was oddly "viewable," and for the first time in weeks, I felt something colder than grief slip down my spine.