The Sound of Forever

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Keane

Day Fifty-Seven

I finally talked about her.

I finally acknowledged the loss of our daughter—the little baby Ophelia was so excited about, the one she dreamed of holding, loving, raising. And I . . . the one I wasn’t sure I wanted.

The admission burns as it leaves me, dragging with it a guilt so profound it feels like I might drown in it. It’s not just the words—it’s what they mean, what they’ve always meant. I didn’t just lose her that day. I failed her. Both of them.

I see it so clearly now. The flash of headlights, the screech of tires, the sound of metal folding in on itself. It replays in my head like a haunting, over and over, no matter how tightly I squeeze my eyes shut. And then there was silence—until everything became dark.

I didn’t get to see our baby’s first breath. I didn’t get to feel her little hand curling around mine. I didn’t get to see Ophelia’s face light up the way it did when she was happy, when she was dreaming of the family she thought we’d be.

Instead, I woke up five years later to nothing. To no memories, no family, and just a doctor asking me a billion questions about who I was. The accident had claimed our daughter before she could even take her first breath. And Ophelia? She had to piece her life together alone.

That’s another reason why I had to let her go. I’m okay with it now. I realized I didn’t love her the way she deserved, but our child—our little girl . . .

I’ve been thinking about her.

Fifty-seven days ago, I couldn’t even acknowledge her existence. I couldn’t talk about her, couldn’t think about the life she should have lived, the future ripped away in a single, shattering moment. The guilt was unbearable. The grief was a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun.

But now? Now, I let myself face it. I let myself feel every jagged edge of it.

I had a daughter.

We lost our daughter.

And with her, I lost the love of my life.

I don’t know if forgiveness will ever be mine—not from Ophelia, not from myself. But I know this pain is mine to carry. It’s a part of me now, as permanent as the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins.

Because no matter how much time passes, I can’t escape the truth: I failed them both.