One
There’s an unopened beer on the counter in my kitchen, taunting me with the promise of numbness I know it can’t deliver. Not when the ache in my chest feels like a permanent fixture—like it’s been carved into my bones ever since my life split into two distinct eras: Before and After.
Before, I was a man who built things. A guy who fixed what was broken. I worked my ass off because I believed in the life I was constructing: The shop humming with business, the house finally becoming a home, my routine as solid as the walls I hammered together. I had a future in mind. It felt so close I could taste it.
After? I’m still not sure who I am now. I’m just… here, standing in a too-quiet kitchen. The silence settles into the corners like dust, reminding me of all the sounds that used to fill this place—sounds I’d do anything to have back.
I pick up the beer, turning the bottle between my fingers. Condensation drips onto the countertop, forming little puddles.
I close my eyes and realize the hush is so absolute, it’s almost claustrophobic. There’s no babbling from Rosie’s sweet little voice in the background. No late-night phone calls from Amber just to check in. No sound of Lyndsey’s slippers scuffing across the floor as she’d mumble that I should just go to bed, that this can’t be healthy, sitting alone in the dark like some ghost waiting to vanish.
Nothing but silence.
My lungs tighten, and I exhale a harsh breath, setting the bottle back down. I try to shake the memories, but my head won’t let me.
In an instant, I’m no longer in the kitchen. My thoughts drag me back to that moment. The night everything changed forever.
∞∞∞
Rosie was about six months old then, a tiny little wonder I never seemed to get tired of holding. I’d just finished swaying her to sleep, my arms aching but my chest so full of love it felt like it might burst. I’d set her down in her travel cot with careful, practiced motions, so proud of how gentle I’d become with her. She was my niece, sure, but she felt like a piece of my own heart.
Lyndsey was leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous glint in her eye. We were both a little giddy, running on adrenaline from juggling bottles and diapers and lullabies. There was laughter in her voice as she said, “She’s out cold, huh?”
I nodded, pressing a finger to my lips. “We gotta be quiet,”
I whispered, fighting a smirk as I took her hand, tugging her toward the living room. “Rosie’s a light sleeper.”
“You’re telling me.”
Lyndsey laughed under her breath. “I’ve been shushed by you a dozen times already.”
“Promise I’ll make it up to you.”
I arched a brow, leaning in like I might steal a kiss. “If we can just manage not to wake her up again—”
She silenced me by leaning in, her lips brushing mine, and for the first time all night, I thought maybe we could steal a few minutes of peace. I threaded my fingers through her hair, feeling my heart kick up in my chest. The day had been hectic—burp cloths and diaper changes, cooing and crying—but this felt like a reward. Like a sweet, secret moment we deserved after playing stand-in parents.
Her hushed giggles filled the space between us, the tension in the air shifting from chaos to something else, something warmer and infinitely more dangerous. I could feel the heat of her body, the way her breath hitched when my hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt. We were two seconds away from forgetting everything except each other when a sharp knock shattered the quiet.
Lyndsey froze, eyes wide as she pulled back. “I thought you said you had Rosie overnight?”
“I do,”
I said, frowning. “They’re not supposed to pick her up until morning.”
I glanced at the clock, wondering if Amber and Mike had decided to come back early, maybe forgetting something for Rosie. With one last apologetic squeeze of Lyndsey’s hand, I strode to the front door.
My stomach lurched the second I opened it.
Two uniformed police officers stood on my porch, hats in their hands. Their faces were drawn, eyes clouded with regret. I hadn’t lived a squeaky-clean life or anything, but there was something about the way they stood—like they carried the weight of a tragedy on their shoulders—and every piece of me went cold.
“Wesley Carter?”
the taller officer asked softly.
I forced out a nod, vaguely aware that Lyndsey was hovering in the hallway behind me, looking as tense and worried as I felt.
“Sir,”
the other officer began, his tone gentler than I’d ever heard a cop speak. “We’re sorry to disturb you so late. There’s been an accident involving your sister Amber and her husband, Mike.”
My mouth went dry. I remember staring at them, the words not quite clicking. A numbness spread from the center of my chest outward.
The officer kept talking, though it sounded like his voice was coming from underwater. “They were involved in a collision on the highway. The car… we did everything we could to—”
He stopped, swallowing hard, and I suddenly realized my heart was pounding so loudly that I could barely hear him over the roar of blood in my ears. “I’m sorry, sir. Neither of them survived.”
All at once, the world dropped out from beneath me. I heard Lyndsey gasp behind me, a strangled, broken sound that told me this was real, that I wasn’t imagining these words.
I didn’t realize I’d staggered until the taller cop reached out a hand to steady me. My sister. My brother-in-law. Gone. Just like that. It made no sense. Amber was the bright, fierce heartbeat of our family. And Mike—he was so steady, so proud to be her husband, so damn good at loving her.
And Rosie…
Oh God. My eyes flicked automatically to the hallway, to where Rosie slept, perfectly peaceful, oblivious to the fact that her entire world had just fractured. She was theirs, their baby, their miracle. And now… I couldn’t wrap my mind around the quiet heartbreak settling in my chest.
I remember the officers said something about waiting for the official coroner’s report, about next of kin, about how sorry they were. All I could do was stand there, nodding like a man in a trance, while Lyndsey quietly wept behind me. Numbness sank into my bones, the kind that makes you feel hollow from the inside out.
At some point, I shut the door. I turned to Lyndsey, saw her tear-streaked cheeks, and heard a tiny cry from the next room. Rosie stirred as if she somehow sensed the catastrophe rippling through the house. When I stumbled to the travel cot and scooped her up, her baby warmth radiating through me, I realized that everything had changed in a single moment. Amber was gone. Mike was gone. Rosie had no parents now.
And I was lost.
∞∞∞
The memory slams into me and leaves me breathless as I’m yanked back into my empty kitchen. My hands grip the counter to keep from shaking, eyes stinging with unshed tears. The unopened beer stares me down, shining in the overhead light, and Rosie’s baby monitor hums softly like a half-forgotten lullaby.
I feel the crushing weight of all that’s happened—losing Amber and Mike, trying to raise Rosie, watching Lyndsey walk away when she realized I was too broken to let her in. And now, I’m standing here, forced to make another choice: hire the nanny or soldier on alone, like I have been since the day the cops knocked on my door.
God, I hate how it all turned out. How my heart feels splintered into too many pieces to count. But what I want doesn’t matter anymore. This is about Rosie—her needs, her future, her happiness. She’s lost enough in her short life, and I’ll be damned if I let her lose anything else.
Setting the beer aside, I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing the memories to stop clawing at me. My throat feels tight, and my lungs burn like I’ve been holding my breath for months. In some ways, I probably have.
I might not know exactly who I am now. I might not know if I’ll ever be the same guy I was before. But I do know one thing: Rosie deserves more than this empty shell of a man I’ve become. She deserves stability, laughter, and a home filled with love instead of quiet devastation.
I might not have all the answers, but I have one, and I’ll do anything to keep her safe, to give her the life Amber and Mike would’ve wanted for her. Even if it means letting someone else in, letting a nanny help where I can’t handle it alone. Even if it means facing the gaping hole in my chest every single day, feeling the grief echo in every room of this house.
Because I couldn’t save Amber or Mike. I couldn’t stop that knock at the door. But I can show up for Rosie, day in and day out, giving her a shot at a happy childhood. not defined solely by loss.
So I inhale, bracing myself, and step away from the counter. The decision feels monumental, but also like there was never another option. Tomorrow, I’ll make the call. I’ll invite a stranger into our lives to help with the one precious thing I have left.
I can’t go back to before. But maybe, just maybe, I can find a way forward. For Rosie’s sake, and maybe, one day, for mine too.