Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
T he phone rang, sharp and jarring, slicing through the peaceful darkness of the bedroom.
Haley stirred, caught between the heaviness of sleep and the slow creep of dread that coiled in her gut. The shrill tone continued, insistent and demanding. Ian shifted beside her, his warmth an anchor against the sudden chill settling over her skin.
She reached for her phone with trembling fingers, her heart already racing before she even looked at the screen.
Mom.
A strangled breath caught in her throat.
She knew.
Somewhere deep inside, she already knew.
The moment stretched thin, her vision blurring as the name on the screen pulsed like a heartbeat. Her thumb hovered for a second longer than it should have before she swiped to answer.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Not complete silence, but a fractured, uneven breath. A choked sob. The sound of someone barely holding themselves together.
Then, the words that shattered everything.
"Haley..." Her mother’s voice was brittle, fragile in a way Haley had never heard before. There was no anger, no sharp-edged accusations. Just grief. Raw and unfiltered.
The air in the room seemed to disappear, the darkness pressing in on her like a weight.
Her throat tightened painfully. She forced the words out, though her lips felt numb.
“Is he gone?”
The dam broke.
Her mother’s sobs shattered the last sliver of hope clinging to Haley’s chest. A vice tightened around her lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
“No,” she whispered, but it wasn’t a denial—it was an ache, a plea to the universe to undo what had already been set in stone.
Her hands felt numb, her stomach a swirling mess of nausea. Her ears rang, muffling the sound of her mother’s voice as she tried to explain, but Haley couldn't process the words. Cardiac arrest. Peaceful. No pain. The words meant nothing. They were empty syllables, just static in the face of something too massive to comprehend.
The mattress dipped beside her. Ian shifting. His strong arm wrapped around her waist, his warmth pressing into her side. She wanted to sink into him, wanted to be held together by his strength, but grief had turned her body into stone. She was frozen in that moment, trapped between heartbreak and disbelief.
“I need to go home,” she rasped, uncertain if she was speaking to her mom or Ian.
Ian’s grip tightened. “I’ll drive.”
She shook her head, dazed. “I... I can’t believe this is happening.”
Ian didn’t try to say anything. He just held her, his forehead pressed to her temple, his breath steady while hers came in sharp, shallow gasps.
There was no undoing this.
Her father—the man who had been her rock, who had kissed her scraped knees as a child and whispered reassurances into the night when she was scared—was gone.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
Three days later, they laid him to rest.
The church was packed. People she hadn’t seen in years surrounded her, their voices hushed but ever-present. Murmured condolences, whispered prayers, the rustling of tissues—Haley heard it all, but it felt distant, like she was underwater, watching it all happen without truly being a part of it.
She had greeted everyone, shaken hands, and offered hollow smiles of thanks. She didn’t remember what she said to most of them. The words were automatic.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Yes, he was a wonderful man. Yes, we will miss him.”
It was all a blur.
And then she saw Aggie.
The sight of the elderly nurse from the hospital nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. Unlike everyone else, Aggie didn’t offer meaningless words or forced comfort. She simply pulled Haley into a warm, familiar embrace.
That was when the ice that had wrapped itself around Haley’s heart cracked.
“Your father was very proud of you, Haley,” Aggie murmured, her voice kind and knowing. “He talked about you every single day.”
Haley swallowed hard, barely holding herself together. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Aggie pulled back slightly and reached into her purse. “He wanted me to give you this letter. Obviously, he couldn’t write it himself, but I took down everything he said. When you get a moment later, you’ll want to read it.”
Haley’s hands shook as she took the envelope, staring at the neatly folded paper inside. Another piece of the ice fractured and fell away, allowing a tidal wave of grief to wash over her.
This is how grief was, they’d told her. It ebbed and flowed—sometimes overwhelming, sometimes gentle, but always present.
The church smelled like lilies.
Haley hated it.
The scent was cloying, too sweet, too strong, filling every corner of the space. It made her feel sick. Or maybe that was just the grief.
Frank and Bridget Johnson sat in the second row, their sons filling the entire pew, a wall of quiet strength behind her. All save Ian, who remained by her side.
He had been her anchor these past few days, stepping in when she couldn’t speak, when she couldn’t move, when she couldn’t even think. He had held her mother’s trembling hands, guided her through conversations she barely remembered, whispered reassurances when the world became too much.
If she had ever wondered before about the depth of her love for Ian, she would never question it again. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the only way she’d survived the past few days was because he had practically carried her—both metaphorically and physically. She was broken down, shattered, and numb. But he saw through the barriers, the tears, the anger, and the regret. He had loved her in the smallest and simplest ways, and they had spoken the loudest.
She squeezed his hand—likely for the first time in hours—indicating that she was actually mentally present.
Ian shot her a worried glance.
“Are you all right?” he whispered as he gently pulled her close and kissed her temple.
Instead of the cursory nod or fake assurance, she answered honestly. “No, but I will be.”
Ian let out a breath, something between relief and exhaustion. His grip on her hand tightened for just a moment. She then noticed the lines under his eyes from staying up far too late with her, rubbing her back and holding her close when the tears wouldn’t stop.
She leaned into him, just for a second, allowing herself to borrow his strength.
The service passed in a haze of hymns, stories, and a steady stream of people recounting her father’s kindness, his humor, his unwavering love for his family. She heard every word, but none of them felt like enough. How could words capture a life?
How could words capture him?
As the final prayer was spoken and they prepared to leave for the burial, Haley clutched the letter in her lap. The weight of it was unbearable.
Later.
She would read it later.
For now, she let Ian guide her outside, where the crisp autumn air hit her like a slap, cutting through the fog in her head. The sky was a dull gray, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang.
Life kept going.
Even when hers had just stopped.