CHAPTER 2: Grief
1130 Words
The sun had begun its slow descent over the peaceful cemetery. The trees stood tall and still, as if holding their breath. Rows of polished stones shimmered in the afternoon light, but Kai saw only one...the one that had taken days of denial, sleepless nights, and painful acceptance to prepare.
Celeste Aldrin-Montclair.
Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Wife.
Gone Too Soon, But Loved Beyond Time.
The tombstone stood neatly on the earth, already half-sunk into the soil as if settling into its permanent place. A soft wind rustled the flowers blanketing her grave. Dozens of white lilies, soft pink roses, and a few forget-me-nots clinging to the wind like little whispers from those who came and left too quickly.
Kai didn’t move as people passed him, quietly offering soft words, touches to the arm, and short nods of sympathy. He said nothing. His eyes were locked on the grave, on the stone, on her name. He barely heard the murmurs of condolences anymore. All he could hear was her voice, her last conversation with him playing on repeat in his mind.
'If anything happens to me… promise me you’ll let them take what they can. If someone else can live, then I want that. I want to help. Even if it’s the last thing I do.'
At the time, Kai had brushed it off. She had been smiling like her usual casual, almost teasing smile. She had always been like that. Light in the middle of heavy things. And she had made him promise, even though he didn’t want to think about losing her. Not ever.
But now, he had no choice. She was gone. Not peacefully in her sleep, not slowly in a hospital bed but ripped away in a collision that shattered the car and nearly took everything with it.
And the body they buried today wasn’t even whole.
Because she had meant it. Every word.
She had signed the consent forms herself...organ donor, tissue donor, fertility preservation, all of it. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not when the doctors said “Her heart went to a man who was hours away from dying.” Not when they told him “Her corneas gave someone their sight back.” Not when they said “A child received part of her liver.”
How could he say no to that?
She had saved people. Even in death.
But Kai didn’t feel noble. He didn’t feel proud. He felt empty.
The love of his life had been reduced to what was left. Her beautiful, vibrant body was shared, spread across strangers he would never meet. And now, all he had was a grave and a few pieces of the woman he loved enough to build a future with.
He finally stepped forward when the last of the cars pulled away, and silence settled over the grounds. Dropping to his knees at the edge of her resting place, he let his hands fall to the soft dirt. It was still fresh, slightly damp, the scent of soil and flowers blended in the air around him.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to argue,” he said softly, his voice hollow.
A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t last.
“You always made your own choices. I hated that sometimes.” His jaw clenched. “I hate it now.”
He glanced down at the polished grave marker and ran his fingers slowly across the carved letters of her name.
“But you were good. Too good for this world.”
His voice cracked.
Then, in the kind of silence that makes the soul feel exposed, his voice fell into a whisper and it sounded rough as it trembled.
“Why did you have to leave me so soon?”
His shoulders tensed, eyes locked on the grave like he was waiting for it to answer him, like any second now, she’d sit up with that half-smile and tell him this was all just some cruel joke.
“Didn’t you promise,” he said again, louder this time, “that we’d grow old together?”
The words came out broken knowing that he will have to live everyday with the shattered pieces of a future that would never happen.
“You promised me a life. A whole life,” he whispered. “You told me we’d have a house by the lake, I had one built for you. You wanted a dog, remember? A big one. So I bought one and was supposed to give it to you on your birthday. You wanted to name our daughter Aria because you said it sounded like music...”
His lips trembled.
“You painted that damn nursery,” he added, laughing bitterly through the tears that were spilling freely now. “You painted it, even when I told you it was too soon.”
Kai stood up for a moment, pacing beside the grave like he couldn’t contain what was building inside him.
“I didn’t care about the color. You said soft green would calm the baby, and I just—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “You had everything planned. Every little detail. I never told you how much I loved watching you dream out loud.”
He knelt again, this time slower, resting both palms flat on the ground.
“I don’t know how to be here without you. I don’t know how to breathe in a world that doesn’t have your voice in it.”
His voice hitched in his throat. “You made everything make sense, Celeste.”
He pressed his forehead to the ground now, letting the tears fall freely into the earth where she lay.
“You laughed when I got too serious. You grounded me when I got lost in work. You’d steal the covers and then blame me for it. And I loved every second of it.”
His hands curled into the grass as he cried.
“I loved you in ways I never knew I could love anyone.”
The ache in his chest was unbearable, deep, and suffocating.
“I don’t want to go home,” he whispered. “Because you won’t be there. No mug on the counter. No piano music from the other room. No more dancing barefoot in the kitchen while dinner burned. No more arguing over who forgot to water the plants.”
He let out a soft, broken laugh that turned into a sob.
“You were my world.”
The wind stirred gently, as if offering some sort of answer. But Kai didn’t want poetry. He didn’t want metaphors. He wanted her, but could no longer have her.
- Writer
