Daniella nodded. “I only remember skating on the ice, not him making it.”
“He worked tirelessly every evening, flooding the ground and watching over it as the water froze, just to see the look on our faces when it was finished. He even found some second-hand skates for us, and we spent hours teaching each other how to glide over the ice.”
Daniella’s dad smiled through his tears. “Marcus never got tired of picking Daniella up each time she fell over. That was a great winter.”
As they reminisced, Daniella’s heart ached with a familiar guilt. She’d been miles away when Marcus needed her the most. She’d buried herself in work, in ambition, in a life that suddenly seemed trivial compared to the loss they all bore.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “I should’ve been here.”
Her mom gently squeezed her waist. “You’re here now,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Marcus understood, darling. He always did.”
But understanding wasn’t forgiveness, or at least it didn’t feel like it to Daniella. She knelt before the grave, her fingers brushing some dried grass off the headstone. “I hope you can forgive me, Marcus,” she said, the words for her brother or perhaps for herself. “I’m trying to make it right. I’m trying to be the person you believed I could be.”
Owen knelt beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “He was proud of you. He bragged about his sister, the big-shot advertising executive, to anyone who’d listen. He knew your heart was always in Sapphire Bay, even when your dreams took you somewhere else.”
Daniella leaned into her brother’s embrace, allowing herself to just be a sister, a daughter, a part of the family that Marcus had left behind. They stood together, a family bound by love and the shared pain of loss.
When the wave of grief passed, she looked at Owen. His eyes were clouded with a sadness the sun couldn’t dispel. He’d always been the stoic one, but as he knelt beside his older brother’s grave, the armor seemed to have fallen away. There was a vulnerability in the way his hand rested on their brother’s headstone, a tenderness in his voice that cracked with emotion.
“How are you feeling, Owen?” Daniella asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible weight.
He paused, his eyes never leaving the headstone. “It’s like there’s a hole in my heart that can’t be filled, you know?” His voice was a soft baritone, barely carrying over the whispering wind. “I miss him. Every day, it’s... it’s like I’m waiting for him to walk through the door again.”
Daniella reached out, her hand finding Owen’s, and gently squeezing it. In that simple gesture, she tried to pour all the love and support she could muster, hoping to bridge the gap of unspoken pain between them.
Owen offered a half-smile, a silent thank you for her presence and understanding. “Some days are harder than others,” he continued, his gaze lifting to meet hers. “But being here, with everyone, it helps. It makes me feel less adrift.”
Daniella nodded, feeling her own heart echo his sentiments. The cemetery, a place of somber memories, also held a sense of togetherness that they all clung to, a reminder that in their shared loss, they found a collective strength.
“Is everyone ready to go home?” Daniella’s dad asked.
With a silent nod, they turned to leave.
As they walked along the stone path, the sun broke through the clouds, bathing the cemetery in a warm, golden light. For a moment, Daniella felt as though Marcus was with them, his spirit a comforting presence whispering of home and the unbreakable bonds of family.
“Bye, Marcus,” she whispered in a tender farewell. “I love you.”
* * *
On Sunday afternoon,the sun beat down on The Welcome Center’s outdoor basketball court where Harrison was warming up.
He dribbled the ball with an easy rhythm as he thought about Daniella. He’d called her last night to see how the visit to the cemetery had gone. She was shattered by the grief she hadn’t expected to feel and overwhelmed by the support of her family.
As the teams gathered, Pastor John jogged over to him, a sheepish look on his face. “Shelley’s come down with the flu,” he explained. “Daniella’s agreed to step in for her.”
Harrison glanced toward the entrance, and there she was, striding onto the court with a confidence that caught him off guard. She looked cute in her black basketball shorts and a bright pink T-shirt. When she saw him, she sent him a quick smile before joining the rest of her team.
Before he could talk to her, the referee blew his whistle and everyone hurried onto the court. When the game began, friendly banter echoed around the court as the ball was dribbled back and forth in a blur of movement. Harrison played well, his height an advantage he knew how to use. But when Daniella got the ball, everything shifted.
For someone so small, she moved like lightning, her sneakers squeaking against the court as she wove through the players. She shot from the three-point line—a clean, perfect arc that swished through the net.
She grinned when Harrison stopped and stared at her.
Within seconds, he was guarding her, a challenge he hadn’t anticipated. “I didn’t think you’d play basketball,” he said during a brief pause in play.
Daniella grinned, passing the ball between her legs with a flourish. “You don’t have to be over six feet tall to bounce a ball.”
“No, but it helps.” He lunged for the ball, but she quickly passed it to a player on her team.
