That night, Adaora could not sleep.
She lay in the dark, sheets twisted around her legs, Ifeanyi's voice echoing through her head: He was happiest with you.
It should have comforted her. Instead, it broke her wide open.
Because if Tobi had been happiest with her, then why wasn't he here? Why had joy not been enough to keep him in this world, in her arms, in the tomorrow they once planned? The thought circled endlessly, cruel and unrelenting.
Tears slid down her temples, soaking the pillow. She pressed both hands against her chest, as if she could hold her ribcage together. The ache inside her wasn't just emotional—it was physical, sharp and suffocating.
She sat up suddenly, restless, pacing the small room. Everywhere her eyes landed, there was a ghost: the mug Tobi once favored, the corner where he used to sit when he visited, the books he had recommended. Even the silence held him.
It was unbearable.
She grabbed the mug and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen jagged pieces, the sound slicing the silence. Adaora collapsed to her knees, sobs racking her body.
Adriella rushed in moments later, breathless. "Adaora!" She froze at the sight—the shards on the floor, her friend crumpled in the middle of them like something broken too.
"I can't do this!" Adaora screamed, voice raw. "I can't live in a world where he's gone! Every breath hurts. Every moment is a punishment. And I—" Her words dissolved into sobs, her body trembling violently.
Adriella dropped to the floor beside her, pulling her into her arms despite the glass. "Then don't do it alone," she whispered fiercely. "If you can't carry it, let me carry it with you."
Adaora clung to her, her nails digging into Adriella's back, as if holding on was the only way to keep from shattering completely. Her cries tore through the apartment, jagged and unrestrained.
Minutes—hours—passed in that storm.
Eventually, the sobs slowed. Not because the grief had lessened, but because her body was too exhausted to produce more tears. She lay limp against Adriella, breathing raggedly.
For a long time, they sat in silence.
Finally, Adriella said softly, "You don't have to let go of him, Adaora. Maybe healing isn't about forgetting. Maybe it's about learning to carry him differently."
Adaora blinked, staring at the shards glittering on the floor. Broken, but still there. Changed in form, but not erased.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. "Carry him?"
"Yes," Adriella said gently. "Not as a wound that bleeds every second. But as a part of you. In memories. In the way you love. In the strength you'll find, even when you think you can't. He doesn't vanish because you laugh again, or because you survive. He stays, just… scattered."
Adaora closed her eyes. Ifeanyi's words returned: He was happiest with you. And now Adriella's: He stays, just scattered.
The pain was still there, raw and merciless, but for the first time, she saw it not as an enemy to be fought but as proof of love. Proof that he had been real, that their joy had existed, and that his absence mattered because his presence had mattered more.
It didn't make her whole. It didn't silence the ache. But it gave her permission to breathe without guilt.
Slowly, Adaora reached for Adriella's hand. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered, "Then maybe… maybe I can try. Not to erase him. But to carry him."
Adriella squeezed her hand tightly. "That's all I ask. One day at a time. One breath at a time."
Adaora exhaled, shaky but steady enough. For the first time, she did not feel like she was drowning. She felt like a woman standing in the waves, battered, yes—but still standing.
And that was something.