You don’t need to silence it — only to meet it, moment by moment.
First… breathe. Let the ache rise and fall with your breath. Exhale the sorrow.
Then… notice. A memory, a trace, a presence that still glows in the quiet corners of your heart.
And finally… hold onto small comforts, however fragile — a nickname they had for you, a recipe they taught you, an old jumper they wore. These things endure beyond absence.
Loss is a weight to be carried with patience, reverence, and the quiet knowledge that love doesn’t die.
The following morning,sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, painting a stripe across her duvet. She woke to the biggest response she’d ever had to a blog so far. Notifications flooded her inbox — likes and comments from names she’d never seen before, strangers offering condolences and sharing their own experiences of loss.
And Betty.
Catherine’s heart stuttered.
Betty77:
Hey. I saw your latest blog. Beautiful words, thank you for sharing x
P.S. I hope you’re okay. x
Dr.T:
Hi. It’s been a tough few days. I lost someone I really cared about. It’s always difficult to say goodbye, isn’t it? Thanks for reaching out x
Betty77:
I’m so sorry. Be gentle with yourself x
Catherine drew a shuddering breath and pushed back the covers.Enough moping.What better way to shake the sadness from her bones than a walk?
11
GLASSHOUSE
PRESENT DAY
Aheadache blistered behind Catherine’s eyes. She flicked off the computer monitor, unable to stand the glare any longer. With its muted green walls and warm lighting, her office wasn’t an unpleasant space, but she’d been in the room so long the walls felt as though they were pressing in. A light breeze flapped through the vertical blinds, which clattered against the window ledge, beckoning her toward the bright afternoon beyond the sash frame.
Fortunately, all her appointments were done for the day, but there were some fairly urgent case notes to type up, a diagnostic summary to send over to the university hospital, and a progress report to submit to a client’s insurance company. These were all tasks the very capable Alice would’ve handled before things had gone tits-up. Thanks to the Daltons, now she only had Stephanie, who was about as much use as a saddle on a snail, so Catherine would have to do it all herself.
She removed her reading glasses and cradled her pounding head in her hands for a moment, but before slipping into another negative thought pattern, she drew a decisive breath — sometimes she just needed to swallow her own advice…fresh air and a change of scenery.
Later, she’d pour a glass of something nice, pop dinner in the oven and power on through, but first she needed to get past the blinding pain behind her eyes. Scooping up her satchel with her laptop stowed safely inside, Catherine set out.
“I’m off for the day. See you tomorrow.”
Stephanie grunted an acknowledgement, but barely lifted her head, which prompted Catherine to take a mental note of another task: hire a new PA.Preferably someone with all Alice’s skills but none of her looks. At least that way the Daltons won’t get any more funny ideas.
Catherine shivered against the unexpected chill — the sunlight promising summer was being undermined by a breeze that still whispered winter.Damn,she’d left her jacket hanging in her office. Not wanting to turn back, she buried her hands in the warm comfort of her pockets and strode towards the park. Avoiding the high street, she took her favoured route past the row of Regency townhouses, their gleaming facades striking against the backdrop of blue sky.
Pink blossom from the cherry trees flanking the park’s main avenue drifted in the air like confetti. Catherine passed the fountains and the Jephson Memorial, then found herself gravitating towards the Glasshouse. She’d only been inside a handful of times as it was closed duringher early morning walks and too busy at the weekends. But now, it stood quiet, like a giant glass lung holding its breath.
Inside, the fragrant air wrapped her in a warm hug, and the door swooshed closed behind her, trapping in the humidity. She wandered over the bridge and stopped to admire a greedy ficus, which had tried to swallow its surroundings by growing up and around the railings. Calm washed over her amid the vibrant green ferns and tropical plants, a few of which she could name without looking at the plaques — orchids, birds of paradise, pink powder puffs,and is that a banana tree?
Then, in the corner of her eye, a flash of red.
Red coat, red hair.It’s her.She sat on a bench overlooking a slate rockery packed with flowering cacti. Catherine’s stomach swooped.
