We’re still catchingour breath when the quiet finally settles back into the room.
Not the heavy kind.
The peaceful kind.
I’m curled against Night’s chest, my cheek resting over his heartbeat. His arm is wrapped around my back, firm and sure, like he’s anchoring me here. For once, my mind isn’t racing. My body isn’t braced for impact. I just exist in the steady rise and fall of him beneath me.
After a few minutes, he shifts.
“Stay right here,” he says.
I lift my head slightly as he slips out of bed and pulls on his jeans. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t look tense. Just thoughtful. Disappearing into the closet, I hear cardboard scrape against the floor.
When he comes back, he’s carrying a large box in both arms.
“What is that?” I ask, leaning closer.
He bends down, setting it carefully on the floor, like whatever’s inside is precious cargo. He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me.
“I had this done a few days ago,” he says quietly. “Wanted to wait until everything was over.”
He opens the box, and inside are three black urns.
Custom. Polished. Each one engraved.
My breath leaves me in a sharp, broken pull, chest tightening so fast it hurts. I slide off the bed without even realizing I’m moving, my knees hitting the floor as my hands hover over them, trembling.
“Night…” My voice cracks.
“Your mom,” he says softly. “Your dad, and Ty.”
I touch the first urn like it might vanish. My fingers trace over the engraving. My mother’s name. Choking on a sob, I press my palm flat against it. Then the second. Then the third.
Ty.
My big brother.
Tears hit the metal and I don’t even try to stop them. My shoulders shake as everything caves in at once… the rage, the grief, the month I’ve spent carrying them like weapons just to survive.
“I couldn’t leave them out there like numbers in a report,” he says. “They deserved to come home.”
I look up at him through tears. My words come out rough and broken. “Thank you.”
He crouches in front of me and pulls me into his chest. I cling to him, my hands fisting in his shirt like I might fall apart without something solid to hold. He understood that my hesitation with the ashes was really me refusing to accept the truth. And for that, I love him.
I would give anything… anything… to have them back. To hear my mom’s voice once more. To fight with my dad overstupid things. To see Ty roll his eyes at me like I embarrassed him just by breathing.
Anything.
But I can’t change what was taken.
All I can do is choose what I keep.
I look at the urns again. My family. What’s left of them.
And then I look at Night.
At the man who brought them back to me.
