Chapter 4
Or perhaps he had considered it and decided that Emily would trust him anyway.
That realization was worse.
His mother sat down slowly. “Alexander, you need to speak to Emily when she is ready.”
“She isn’t ready.”
“Then give her time.”
“I will.”
Madison wiped her eyes. “Should I contact her?”
“No.”
“But I should apologize.”
“You should,” he said. “Not because you want forgiveness. Because you owe her the truth.”
Madison nodded.
Alexander turned toward the door.
His mother called after him. “Where are you going?”
“To work.”
“Now?”
“If I stay here, I’ll keep finding reasons to call her.”
His mother’s face softened with a grief she had not shown before.
“Alexander,” she said, “not every silence is waiting to be filled.”
He paused.
Then he left.
In Toronto, I woke before sunrise in a furnished apartment that smelled faintly of fresh paint and someone else’s cooking.
For several seconds, I didn’t know where I was.
Then I saw the white urn on the small table beside the sofa.
The knowledge returned all at once—not as a sharp pain, but as a weight already waiting for me.
Grace was gone.
Alexander was in Chicago.
I was alone in a city where the streets were unfamiliar and the windows looked out over buildings I had never seen before.
I sat up and reached for the urn.
It was small enough to hold in both hands. The funeral home had placed a pale ribbon around it, though Grace had never liked ribbons in her hair because she said they tickled her neck.
I touched the lid.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I whispered.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
For the next two weeks, I built my life out of small tasks.
I learned which café opened earliest. I found a grocery store near the apartment. I bought a winter coat because Toronto’s cold air seemed to arrive from every direction at once.
At work, no one asked me to explain everything.
My new manager, Nora Patel, had arranged a quiet office near a window overlooking the street. On my first day, she placed a mug of tea beside my laptop.
“You don’t have to be fine here,” she said.
I looked at her.
She gave a small shrug. “You only have to be present.”
It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me since the funeral.
So I was present.