Page 8 of Echoes of Us
Lucas’s fingers worked nervously at the rabbit’s ear.“Mom cried again,” he said finally.
Ashley nodded, her expression calm and open.“That must’ve been hard to see.How did that make you feel?”
Lucas shifted, glancing down at his lap.“I don’t know.Sad, I guess.I wanted to help her, so I cleaned up the dishes after dinner.She didn’t see, but I thought maybe it would help.”
“That was a really thoughtful thing to do,” Ashley said, her voice soft but steady.“You care about her a lot.”
Lucas nodded, his brow furrowing.“She cries a lot.What if she’s sad forever?”
Ashley leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on her knees.“It’s okay for your mom to be sad sometimes.It’s part of missing someone she loves.But do you know what makes her happiest?”
Lucas glanced up, his eyes cautious but curious.“What?”
“You,” Ashley said gently.“Just being her son.You don’t have to fix things for her.You don’t have to make the sadness go away.You’re already doing enough just by being you.”
Lucas blinked, his small face tightening as though holding back tears.His grip on the rabbit loosened slightly, and he looked down at it before glancing back at Ashley.“But I don’t want her to be sad all the time.”
“She won’t be,” Ashley said firmly, her voice warm with reassurance.“Grief is like a big, heavy backpack.It feels impossible to carry at first, but over time, it gets lighter.And you’re not carrying it alone.She’s got people to help her–and so do you.”
Lucas stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.“Okay,” he whispered.
Ashley reached for a small stack of crayons and paper on the table beside her.“Sometimes drawing can be easier than talking,” she said softly, setting the materials within Lucas’s reach.“There’s no right or wrong way to do it.You can draw whatever feels right, or even just scribble if you want.”
Lucas hesitated, his fingers brushing over the rabbit’s ear.After a moment, he reached out and chose a blue crayon, his hand moving tentatively at first, then more deliberately across the page.Ashley leaned back slightly, her posture open but unintrusive, letting the silence settle into something peaceful.
The soft scratch of the crayon filled the room, accompanied by the faint hum of the heating system.Sunlight crept across the floor, catching the edges of Lucas’s sneakers as he worked.Ashley watched his small frame relax just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he became absorbed in the drawing.
She didn't want to pry, asking what it was.Not yet.
When Lucas left the room, his mother’s arms wrapping protectively around his small frame, Ashley sat for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on the empty couch.The crayons and paper remained where they’d been left, the green and blue blending together in chaotic but earnest shapes.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.She wondered, not for the first time, how grief shifted in children.Did they feel it differently, or did they simply carry it more quietly, trying not to burden the adults they loved?
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Cole.She’d seen him carry burdens, too, though his hands had never fidgeted and his shoulders had never hunched.Instead, his grief had settled into him like an extra layer of skin–always there, always silent.She wondered now if he’d felt a bit like Lucas: small and powerless, desperate to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
She traced the edge of the paper with her finger, then closed her eyes briefly.Cole didn’t seem like the type of man who ever felt small or powerless.
* * *
Ashley glancedat the clock on her desk.It was just past five, and the counseling center had quieted to a soft hum as the day wound down.She stacked her notes neatly and reached for her bag, pausing when she heard the familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Cole appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.He leaned casually against the doorjamb, his gray eyes warming when they landed on her.
“Ready to be whisked away?”he asked, his voice low and teasing.
Ashley smiled, but before she could respond, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“You look beautiful,” he said, crossing the small space with deliberate slowness.
Her cheeks flushed as he reached her desk, his hand trailing along the edge before brushing against her arm.She stood to meet him, but the moment she did, his hands found her waist, sliding under the fabric of her dress and skimming up her thighs.
“Cole,” she whispered, her voice catching as his fingers toyed with the hem of her high stockings.
“Do you have any idea what these do to me?”he murmured, his lips grazing the curve of her neck.His words sounded wild, but his touch was gentle and reverent, as if he were memorizing every inch of her.
Ashley’s knees threatened to buckle, her head spinning with the intensity of him.Ever since her nausea from the first trimester had subsided, he’d been like this–finding every opportunity to touch her, to close the space between them.During those earlier weeks, he’d been so careful, so patient, giving her the time and space she needed.But now, it was as if he couldn’t help himself, and Ashley wasn’t sure she wanted him to.
Her cheeks burned as his kisses trailed lower, his hands firm against her thighs.“Not here,” she managed, her voice shaky.
