Rosie Callahan Shaw
SEPTEMBER 19, 1996 - January 21, 2026
A far too-short life reduced to nothing more than two dates and a name carved neatly into marble. I drop to my knees and trace over the grooves of the letters with my fingertips, my hand shaking as I follow the curve of the C.
“Happy birthday, dreamer,” I whisper, the words barely choking their way up my throat. I know she isn’t here.I know that. Eight months ago, I watched the ground swallow her coffin, and I screamed until my voice gave out. And still…IswearI feel her beside me.
Sitting on the frozen ground with my back resting against her headstone, I strum at the guitar in my lap. The sharp, discordant note slices through the quiet, making my stomach twist.She deserves better, but these days, this is all I’ve got. After pulling the whiskey bottle from my jacket pocket, I take a long swig. It burns all the way down, spreading heat across my chest and numbing my grief just enough to let me breathe. I hate that I need it, but it’s the only thing that gets me out of bed.She’d hate it, too.
I stretch my cold fingers and adjust the guitar to play her song. The one I wrote for her on a night when everything still felt possible. Back when we were barefoot in the living room of her tiny apartment, drunk on cheap wine and each other, with our whole lives ahead of us. The memory hits so hard, it steals the air from my lungs as my fingers fumble across the strings. The notes wobble, and it’s less than perfect, but I keep going. The imperfect, aching music fills the frozen air.
The wind whips, carrying my grief through the empty cemetery. Tears blur my vision, smearing the strings together beneath my fingers, as they fall down my cheeks. I don’t wipe them away. There’s no one here to see how broken I am. And even if there were, I don’t think I’d care.
“Fuck… I wish I could unlove you,” I mutter, my voice shredded. “Because loving you ruined the world for me.”
I play through my pain, slumping against her headstone, the cold seeping into my spine. My throat is raw from crying and trying to sing into the frozen night air. The strings sting my nearly-numb fingers, and I struggle to strum when they cramp. I should stop, but this is the closest I’ve felt to Rosie since the day she was taken from me. It’s fleeting, but I want to keep it as long as I can.
“Nothing feels like enough anymore. Nothing.”
The accident crashes over me without warning. I relive it over and over, like a record stuck on the worst track of my life.
“Sir,” he says carefully, “there was an accident…”
The word doesn’t sit right, like we’re discussing a spilled drink or a fender bender.
“What kind of accident?” I ask, even though in my gut I know exactly what he is going to say.
The line falls silent for a moment, save for the faint crackle of his radio and voices talking in the distance. “Your wife’s vehicle was involved in a collision on Route 65. We need you to remain where you are,” Trooper Lawrence insists softly. “An officer is enroute to take you to the hospital.”
“No. No, I can drive,” I argue. “Just tell me where she is.”
“She’s been transported to Mercy General.”
“I’m five minutes away. I’m coming now.”
“Sir—”
“I’m coming,” I repeat, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop the phone. On autopilot, I get into my car, and peal out of the parking lot, like if I go fast enough, I can outrun whatever reality is trying to catch up to me. The ride to the hospital is a blur of cars and broken thoughts. “Rosie…” I whisper, gripping the steering wheel tightly, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
The hospital lights are blindingly white when I rush inside. A nurse meets us almost immediately. The first thing I noticeabout her is that she doesn’t smile. Her face is soft but grave, her eyes heavy enough to tell me everything her words don’t. “Easton Shaw?” she asks.
“Yes. Where is she? Where is my wife?” She hesitates to answer, and my stomach drops. “Please,” I add, my voice cracking. “I just need to see her.”
She leads me down a long, quiet hallway, my boots echoing against the tile floor. We step into a small room, where a middle-aged doctor is waiting, his hands folded in front of him, and the same solemn look on his face. “Mr. Shaw,” he says, his tone steady and well-rehearsed. “I’m Dr. Samuelson.” He gestures to the chair beside him. I shake my head to decline the offer. “There was significant trauma from the collision. I’m very sorry to tell you that your wife died en route to the hospital.”
“I… I don’t understand,” I manage. “She was just… She was driving to an appointment. I just talked to her an hour ago.”
“I know this is incredibly hard to hear,” he continues, “but her injuries were catastrophic. We tried, but I’m sorry. There was nothing anyone could have done.”
My knees give out as a primitive, broken cry rattles from my lungs and passes over my lips with a sob. On my hands and knees, I feel like my chest is being crushed from the inside out. The doctor lays a hand on my shoulder as I fall apart. When my cries wane, he quietly asks, “Would you like to see her?”
Every instinct in me screams yes and no at the same time. Unable to bring myself to speak, I nod my answer.
He leads me to the room next door, where Rosie is laid out on a gurney, covered to the shoulders with a white sheet. Her hairis still perfect, and her face is peaceful.Too peaceful. On unsteady legs, I take her hand into mine. It’s not cold, but it’s not warm like it should be either.
“Rosie,” I choke. “Hey, dreamer. I’m here. I’m sorry I’m late.” Collapsing over her, I press my forehead to hers, shaking so hard my teeth chatter. “I love you. I love you…”
I slam my fist against the guitar, screaming her name as an equally noxious twang rings over the cemetery. After another slug of whiskey, I close my eyes and almost imagine her sitting across from me—hands folded in her lap, smiling at me with that ridiculous little grin and scrunched-up nose. The wind whips around me, rustling my hair and scattering the dead leaves across the ground. For one irrational second, I pretend it’s her fingers running through it. But pretending isn’t enough. When I open my eyes, she’s gone, and I’m reminded that I failed her.
