Grief is strange.
It doesn't scream all the time. Sometimes, it sits quietly beside you, heavy and unmoving, like an unwanted companion you can't escape.
The days after Daniel's death passed in a blur of muted colors and hollow sounds. People spoke to me, but their words barely reached my ears. Condolences drifted in and out like echoes, and I nodded when I was supposed to, thanked people when it felt expected.
Inside, I felt nothing.
The apartment we once shared became unbearable. His jacket still hung behind the door. His toothbrush remained in the cup beside mine. At night, I lay on my side of the bed, staring at the empty space where he should have been, waiting for the sound of his breathing that never came.
Sleep refused to find me.
When it did, it came in fragments—haunted by memories and unanswered questions.
The accident.
They called it sudden. Unavoidable. Tragic.
But something about it didn't sit right with me.
Daniel had been careful. Always. He hated speeding and rarely drove at night unless he had to. And yet, the police report was vague, the details disturbingly thin.
Single-car accident.
No witnesses.
Investigation closed
The word burned.
On the morning of the funeral, the sky was grey, heavy with clouds that mirrored the weight in my chest. I dressed in black, my movements mechanical, as if my body knew what to do even when my heart didn't.
The cemetery was quiet, broken only by the sound of shovels and soft sobs. I stood there, numb, as the priest spoke words about peace and rest. None of it felt real.
When the coffin was lowered into the ground, my legs gave out.
Strong arms caught me.Again
I knew who it was before I looked up.
The stranger from the hospital.
He stood beside me, steady and silent, his presence oddly grounding. He didn't speak, didn't offer empty comfort. He simply held me until I could stand on my own again.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded once. "You don't have to be strong today."
His voice was low, controlled, as if emotions were something he kept carefully locked away.
I wanted to ask who he was. Why he was here. Why he looked at Daniel's grave with an expression darker than grief.
But the words stayed trapped in my throat.
After the funeral, people slowly dispersed, leaving behind flowers and memories. I lingered, unable to walk away. It felt like leaving meant accepting the truth—and I wasn't ready.
"You should go," the stranger said quietly.
I shook my head. "If I leave, it means it's real."
His jaw tightened. "It's real whether you stay or not."
The honesty in his words hurt more than comfort ever could.
"What was your relationship with him?" I asked suddenly.He hesitated
"A complicated one," he replied.
Before I could press further, he turned and walked away, leaving me with more questions than answers.
That night, alone in the apartment, I went through Daniel's belongings for the first time. I told myself I was looking for closure, but deep down, I was searching for something else.
Truth.
At the back of his desk drawer, beneath old documents, I found a phone I had never seen before.
It was switched off.
My heart pounded as I held it, fear and curiosity warring inside me. When I turned it on, dozens of unread messages flooded the screen.
Unknown contacts. Missed calls. Cryptic texts.
You're running out of time.
You shouldn't have involved her.
Meet tonight. No excuses.
My hands shook.
What had Daniel been hiding?
As I sat there, the silence around me thickened, pressing in from all sides. Somewhere deep inside, a quiet realization took root.
The man I loved had secrets.
And his death… might not have been an accident at all.
Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, low and warning.
Destiny hadn't finished with me yet.
Not even close.