Page 36 of Beautifully Broken
I wanted to remember.
I wanted to rewind.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to say goodbye.
The scent of lilies rolled through the air again, curling in my throat like poison, and my stomach turned. I swallowed hard. Tried to breathe through my nose. Told myself I was fine. That this was just what you did when your whole world died and the rest of it kept spinning anyway.
The accident wasn’t anyone’s fault. Rain. A sharp curve. A moment too late.
No one to blame. Which meant no one to hate. Which somehow made it worse.
The pastor said her name again and I flinched. My fingers clenched. The pew creaked beneath me.
The room moved. People stood. I followed, slow and mechanical, knees locking as I rose. The sound of shifting wood and soft fabric filled the air. Pallbearers moved forward. Nate among them. I was supposed to follow with the rest of her family, but my body wouldn’t move.
I couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t leave her.
The light still danced across her casket like some kind of blessing. Like the world hadn’t gotten the memo that she was gone. That everything good and real had been buried in that box.
And then—
A hand on my shoulder. Light. Emily. I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. But she didn’t let go.
She didn’t tug. Didn’t speak. Just slid her fingers down my arm and laced them with mine. Solid and sure and still breathing. The only thing tethering me to this earth when everything else felt like it had floated away.
I let her.
Because it was that or drown.
I don’t remember the drive. Just the wind at the cemetery. The sky, bright and blue like it had no right to be. Then the next moment, I was standing in the entryway of our house, Emily behind me, the door clicking shut like a heartbeat.
My parents had been right behind us. Part of me wished they’d stay away. I couldn’t handle the sadness in my father’s eyes or the way my mother kept stroking my hair, asking if I was okay.
No. I wasn’t okay.
Hannah was gone.
It was dark inside. Still. The kind of still that settled in the walls. That curled into corners and made dust feel heavier. No lights were on. The curtains hadn’t been opened in days. The scent of lavender and coconut—her scent—still hung in the air, stubborn and soft.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
A meow echoed from upstairs.
I blinked slowly. Looked toward the stairs.
Nacho stood at the top step, orange fur glowing like flame in the shadows. He tilted his head, tail swishing, as if waiting for someone else to walk through the door.
When I didn’t move, he padded down slowly, pausing halfway to glance over his shoulder. Still waiting.
He reached the bottom, walked to my feet, and let out a soft sound before nudging my shin.
I hit the floor like gravity had just remembered I existed.
My knees cracked. My hands hit hardwood. And Nacho, without hesitation, jumped into my lap and curled against my chest, purring like it might heal something.
