Ann stood in front of the mirror long after she had finished dressing. Her black dress fit perfectly, tailored and elegant, yet it felt like borrowed clothing, something she had slipped into by mistake. Her eyes were swollen despite the careful makeup, the faint redness impossible to hide completely. She stared at her reflection, searching for something familiar. She didn't recognize the woman staring back. "Ann?" Oliver's voice came gently from the doorway. "Are you ready?" She blinked, forcing herself back into the room. "Yes… I think so." He stepped closer, his gaze softening when he saw her face. "You don't have to go today," he said quietly. "I can call the office. They'll understand." She shook her head slowly. "If I stay home, I'll drown," she whispered. "At least at work, I can pretend to breathe."
Oliver didn't argue. He only nodded and reached for her hand. "Then we'll go together." The car ride was quiet. Not the comfortable silence they used to share, filled with shared thoughts and unspoken understanding, but a heavy, suffocating quiet. Ann stared out the window, watching the city pass like a distant film. "Ann," Oliver said softly after a while, "if at any point today feels too much, you leave. No explanations."
She nodded. "I know." He hesitated. "Do you… want me to stay nearby? I can work from my office but" "No," she interrupted gently. "I need to do this myself. Just today."
He squeezed her hand. "I'll be one call away." The moment she stepped into the office, everything felt wrong. The hum of conversation softened. Heads turned. Pity sat in people's eyes like something fragile and unwelcome. "Ann…" Mary was the first to approach, her voice breaking. "Oh God."
Mary pulled her into a tight hug before Ann could react. Ann froze for a second—then collapsed into it. "I didn't know how to call you," Mary whispered. "I didn't know what to say." Ann swallowed hard. "Neither do I."
Mary pulled back, holding Ann's face gently. "You don't have to be strong here. Not with me." Ann managed a weak smile. "I don't know how to be anything else." At her desk, everything was exactly as she'd left it, files neatly arranged, her pen placed at a precise angle. It felt cruel that the world hadn't paused. She sat down slowly.
A coworker passed by. "Good morning, Ann." "Good morning," she replied automatically. The words tasted strange in her mouth.By noon, her head throbbed.
Numbers blurred on her screen. Emails felt meaningless. Every few minutes, her chest tightened unexpectedly, as if grief was reminding her it hadn't gone anywhere.
Mary appeared again, holding two cups of tea. "Chamomile. You used to say it helped."
Ann stared at the cup. "They used to drink chamomile every night." Mary froze. "Ann"
"My mother would complain it tasted like grass," Ann said, her voice trembling. "My father would pretend to love it just to make her smile." Her hands began to shake.
Mary pulled a chair closer. "Talk to me."
Ann's voice cracked. "I keep thinking my phone will ring. That I'll hear my mother's voice asking why I haven't visited. I keep reaching for them, Mary. And then I remember." Mary's eyes filled with tears. "It's not fair." "No," Ann whispered. "It's not."
She left work early. The house greeted her with silence. Ann slipped off her shoes and stood in the living room, unsure of what to do next. The walls felt too wide, the air too still.
Oliver came in shortly after, dropping his keys quietly. "You're home early," he said.
She nodded. "I couldn't focus." He didn't push. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She broke.
"I don't know how to exist without them," she sobbed. "I don't know how people survive this." Oliver tightened his hold. "You don't survive it alone." She turned in his arms, pressing her face into his chest. "They won't see Davis grow up. They won't argue over his school choices. They won't sit in the front row at his graduation." Her voice rose in pain. "They're gone, Oliver. Just like that."
"I know," he murmured, tears slipping freely now. "I know."he said stroking her hair gently.
That evening, Davis padded into the living room with his toy car. "Mommy?" he asked softly. Ann wiped her face quickly and smiled. "Hey, sweetheart." He climbed onto her lap and touched her cheek. "Why do you look sad?" She hesitated, then said gently, "Grandma and Grandpa went to heaven."
He frowned. "Are they coming back?"
Her heart shattered. "No, baby." He thought for a moment, then hugged her tightly. "I'll stay with you." She buried her face in his hair. "Thank you." Later that night, Ann sat alone on the bed, holding her phone. She scrolled through old messages,missed calls from her father, unread jokes from her mother.
Oliver sat beside her. "You don't have to torture yourself." "I don't want to forget their voices," she said. "I'm afraid if I stop looking, they'll disappear." He took the phone gently and placed it aside. "They live in you. No one can take that." She leaned into him. "Promise me something." "Anything." He replied looking at her. "Promise me that life won't erase them." He kissed her forehead. "Never." Oliver said . As the lights went out, Ann lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Grief didn't scream anymore. It whispered.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, something shifted,quiet, unseen, unresolved. Not anger. Not yet. Just a wound too deep to close.