Chapter 1
Nora
Spring
The Funeral
It was as if the world had decided to stop spinning, leaving me suspended in a haze of disbelief.
Ethan’s funeral was a blur of muted colours and hushed voices, the kind of scene you only expect to witness in movies.
Yet here I was, standing on the edge of a grave I never thought I’d see, my chest hollowed out, my breath uneven.
The sky was unreasonably clear, a crisp blue that felt almost mocking.
Shouldn’t it have been raining? Thunder storming?
A snowstorm? Anything to match the chaos inside me?
Instead, sunlight bathed the rows of mourners dressed in black, their faces cast with solemnity—but not the kind that matched the ache writhing in my chest. Nothing could.
The cold bit in, the winter had yet to let go of this spring day.
I adjusted the hem of my black dress for the hundredth time.
It didn’t matter; it would never feel right.
Nothing felt right. My legs wobbled beneath me as if they couldn’t decide if they wanted to hold me up or buckle entirely.
I caught a glimpse of my mother in the crowd, her lips pressed into a tight line.
Her fake grief felt distant. Why was she even here?
My anger and frustration for her would never compare to the gaping hole Ethan’s death had left in me. Right now, I felt nothing for her, all I felt was in the casket before me. How can that be? How did this happen?
“Nora,” a soft voice interrupted. My best friend, Jenny, placed a hand on my shoulder. “You should sit down. You look like you’re going to faint.”
I shook my head sharply. “No. I can’t.”
She didn't push me further; she just did what she did best. Stood at my side and held me up when it felt like the very ground beneath my feet was being swallowed whole.
I couldn’t sit, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
All I could do was stand there, watching as the coffin was lowered into the ground.
A sharp sob escaped my lips, unbidden, and I felt the eyes of the mourner’s flicker toward me.
I hated them for their pity. No one here could understand what this felt like.
How could they? Ethan was my life. My everything. And now he was gone. Just like that.
One minute we were having dinner and laughing about something stupid and the next, I was calling 911, begging him to wake up while the paramedics rushed in too late.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the image of his still, lifeless face was branded there as an inescapable nightmare.
His once beautiful face was frozen in my mind with pain, as I watched the life being pulled away.
The priest’s voice droned on, offering comforting words I couldn’t hear over the roar of my own thoughts. “Ethan Merrick was a man of great kindness, a devoted husband, and a beloved friend...”
Beloved. Devoted. Kind. It felt like a cruel understatement.
Ethan wasn’t just those things; he was the center of my universe.
He was the kind of man who’d sing terribly off-key just to make me laugh, who left sticky notes on the bathroom mirror that read “You’re beautiful” even when I felt anything but.
He made life—my life—something worth waking up for.
And now?
Now, there was nothing but a chasm of silence and the agonizing weight of what could’ve been.
When the priest finished speaking, a few people came forward to toss flowers onto the coffin. Jenny urged me forward, holding out a single white rose. My fingers shook as I took it, its petals soft and fragile against my skin. Just like him, I thought bitterly. Fragile in ways I didn’t even know.
My throat burned as I approached the edge of the grave.
I stared down at the polished wood, the finality of it crushing me.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, so quietly that only the wind could hear.
My hand faltered, and for a moment, I couldn’t let go of the rose.
Throwing it down felt like a betrayal, like admitting that he was really gone. But he was. He was.
Tears blurred my vision as I let the flower fall. It landed softly on the casket, a stark contrast to the weight of my grief. I stepped back, and Jenny caught me by the elbow, steadying me as my legs wavered.
The rest of the service passed in a fog. I barely registered the murmurs of condolences from people I barely knew. “He was such a wonderful man.” “He adored you so much.” “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Neither could I.
By the time the crowd began to disperse, I felt like a shell of myself, hollowed out and fragile. Jenny stayed by my side, offering to drive me home, but I shook my head. “I’ll take a cab,” I mumbled, needing the solitude of the ride.
When I finally got home, the silence was unbearable.
The echoes of Ethan’s laughter, his footsteps, his voice calling my name—all of it was gone, leaving behind an emptiness that seemed to expand by the second.
I slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, scrolling aimlessly through photos of him. Us. Smiling. Happy. Alive.
The hours after the funeral crawled by in a haze.
The house felt like a stranger’s, too quiet, too still.
I wandered aimlessly from room to room, picking up objects that used to belong to Ethan.
I put on his watch, traced my hand over his favourite book that he left on the coffee table.
.. the book he wanted to finish that night.
My hands shook and my chest hurt... something as simple as a book he would never finish.
I stood shaking, looking around the room that once held so much warmth and laughter.
The half-finished crossword puzzle was still on the end table by his favourite chair, he hadn't finished it because I’d distracted him that morning.
.. wanting his attention. Oh god, the way it felt to have his full attention his love.
.. I frantically scanned the room again looking for anything that might hold some part of him I could cling to.
Night fell, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to bed.
The idea of lying there, staring at the empty space where he used to sleep, was unbearable.
Instead, I sat on the couch, wrapped in one of his sweaters, and let the weight of the day press down on me.
Nuzzling into the collar and breathing deep, it smelled like him.
Ethan smelled like fresh linen on a warm summer morning—the crispness of clean cotton mingled with a hint of cedarwood, grounding and steady.
There was always a faint trace of citrus, like the tang of orange peel.
It was the kind of scent that wrapped around you like a hug, familiar and comforting, like home. It was safety and love.
My tears ran dry, but the ache in my chest remained a dull, relentless throb.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows.
It sounded almost like a whisper like his voice calling my name.
I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered back, “I don’t know how to do this, Ethan.
I don’t know how to do any of this without you.
” I sat wrapped in his smell until the darkness of the day finally pulled me under.