“What would you like for dinner?”
I stopped typing on my laptop, totally forgetting that I should complete the story I was writing and turned my head to the kitchen where he’s rummaging through the fridge. A smile instantly crept across my face, loving the sight of this man in my once lonely home.
He just came home from work, probably exhausted, and yet he’s more concerned about my food preference than the fact that I didn’t even bother asking him how his day went. He’s already used to it and doesn’t make a fuss about it – if anyone is curious about that.
We’re like a mix of coffee, him as the sugar doing all the sweet stuff and me as the bitter content. I don’t even know why he’s still around, taking care of me.
He’s patient, loving, adorable, playful, and supportive of all my works. He also cooks well which is perfect because I love to eat. Sometimes I wonder what good I’ve done to deserve him. Do I even want to know?
We ate together then watched movies while he was hugging me the whole time, occasionally kissing my knuckles and my hair. I felt safe in his arms. Isn’t it good to have someone holding you close ’til you fall asleep after a long day? He’s my comfort, my sweet haven.
Jeth was in the shower when my mom suddenly walked in. She held my hands and gently squeezed them.
“Keira, You’ve been locking yourself here for three months now.” Her eyes were soft and full of concern. “It’s time for you to start letting go of his memories. Live on, sweetheart.”
I frantically shook my head upon hearing those words. What is she talking about?
“What do you mean mom? Why should I forget about him when he’s with me?” I asked, confused. “Jeth is here. He’s just in the bathroom. Wait ’til he goes out.”
My mom frowned and slowly shook her head. My eyebrows crossed.
When she just stood there with the same look without saying anything, I turned my head to where the bathroom is.
I couldn’t hear the sound of the running water anymore. His slippers aren’t there where he’d usually put them. My eyes then traveled to the urn on my bedside table.
Tears suddenly rolled down my cheeks when scenes from that night flashed before my eyes. Jeth on the driver’s seat. Me riding shotgun, laughing at his silly joke. A blinding light. A screech. A deafening sound. An impact. Me waking up on a hospital bed. Me crying at his funeral.
I fell on my knees. Mom lightly rubbed my back to comfort me. But no, he’s not dead. Weren’t we just cuddling a while ago? He even cooked for me and we ate together. Everything was normal. We were fine. He held me and I held him. How would that be possible if he’s already dead?
‘Live, Keira’ a voice whispered to my ear. A cold breeze touched my bare shoulder and I shivered. I think he just hugged me. But I just cried and hugged my knees.
Letters From Vier 