Page 85 of The Weight of Her Silence
“You think it’ll ever feel like home again?” he asked.
She looked at him for a long moment, her throat tightening. “I don’t know. Maybe not in the way it used to.”
He nodded, eyes on the floor. “You think about her a lot?”
“Every day.”
“Me too.”
They leaned into each other, shoulder to shoulder, and for a while, said nothing at all.
Later that night, Nate knocked softly on Ava’s door, pausing before entering.
“You all packed?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets. “I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
He hesitated, then tried to close the space between them. “I wish I could’ve… done more. Been more. I’m sorry for how much I missed before. And after.”
Ava’s eyes filled, but she blinked them clear. “We survived, Dad. That counts for something.”
He nodded slowly, voice thick. “I just… I wish your mother could see you now.”
“I think she does.”
The words hung in the air like a prayer.
When Nate hugged her that night, it was long and real. But Ava didn’t linger. And when she stepped back, something in her had already said goodbye.
Epilogue
The Loneliest Kind of Love
The cemetery was quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around you, not to soothe—but to remind. The grass had grown tall at the edges, wildflowers curling around the edges of worn stone markers. Nate walked slowly, one hand in his coat pocket, the other gripping a small bouquet of lilies—her favorite.
Lila’s name had faded just slightly with time. But it was still hers. Still gentle. Still final.
He crouched down, setting the flowers carefully against the base of her grave. His breath fogged in the early autumn air. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above.
“Hey,” he said softly, like she might answer.
He sat down beside her, resting against the cool marble, knees drawn up. It was his ritual now—every few months, without fail.
“I thought I’d feel less of this ache by now,” he whispered. “But it’s… different. Not softer. Just deeper. Like something that settled in my bones.”
He swallowed hard, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket, but not opening it.
“I don’t know where to start, Lila. I’ve said I’m sorry so many times, but it never feels enough. I replay everything—what I did, what I didn’t. The silence. The betrayal. The way you still tried to protect us, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He looked out at the sky, where soft gray clouds drifted.
“I miss you,” he said simply. “In ways I can’t name.”
A long pause.
