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Maia lays him to rest in the dead of winter. Everyone has left and she stands alone above the grave. He is dead; it seems fitting that the world around her is as well. Bare trees loom over her, their outstretched fingers reaching but never quite touching. Their shadows grow long but still Maia does not move. She is frozen to the earth beneath her feet, not sure where one ends and the other begins.
They had their life planned out. He would finish his study and then they'd go travelling. Italy, maybe, or perhaps Greece. Somewhere warm. Leo was looking forward to the food. They’d save for a few years, hoping to buy the cottage of her dreams. Perfect for raising their two children, maybe one of each. Would they have his golden skin? Her button nose? Now they’ll never get the chance.
That future is all gone now, and she is adrift without a purpose. Leo was her rock. Who is she, without her other half? They were going to grow old together, but now she cannot imagine further than the following week.
She gives the grave one final glance, committing it to memory, before turning to leave. There is nothing more here. His spirit is long gone, and the rest is just dust.
The thing about grief is that it is never constant but it is always there. Some days, it is utterly debilitating. It takes all of her strength to just exist within the persistent exhaustion; anything more is beyond her. It is a physical weight against her body, impossible to lift. The storm within her is so strong that she knows she is one false step from being thrown off her feet. Other days, she is just numb. She is adrift in a sea of grief, her purpose lost to the sands of time. It feels like a hole that she will never climb out of. She doesn’t know which one is worse. At least on the bad days, she can feel something.
But oh how she tries. She returns to old haunts, forces herself to spend time with those she once called friends, engage in things she loved not so long ago. Nothing seems to work. She can see the familiar face in the mirror, the curves of the cheeks and brightness of the eyes, but the person themself is utterly foreign.
Maia is around a table with close friends. She carries a facade of interest but really she feels like there’s an invisible wall around her, unable to be crossed. She has been contributing to the conversation as it ebbs and flows, but has no idea what she said. And what does it matter, anyway? All of this is trivial in the grand scheme of things. She is stationary in a world that is moving on without her.
"What do you think, Maia?" Gemma asks, a slight hesitation in her voice. "You up for it?"
Even her friends treat her like this broken thing, a million pieces on the floor to be picked up one by one. She hates it. "Sorry, probably not today. I've got an appointment to get to today." An appointment with her bed, that is. "Thanks, though. Maybe next time I’ll take you up on it."
She gathers her bag, wishing her friends meaningless farewells, before leaving.
She feels like she has the word "fragile" plastered across her forehead. People seem to watch their words around her, their every move seeming to be calculated to avoid setting off the girl with the dead fiancé. Every interaction seems inauthentic. She wishes they would treat her like everyone else because perhaps then she might forget, even for a short while.
She doesn’t blame them, though. Grief in others is an uncomfortable, awkward thing, and Maia doesn’t want to burden them with it. She can feel herself withdrawing, but is unable to stop the downward spiral. It seems as inevitable as the tides.
Though she tries to keep herself busy during the day, the daylight only lasts so long. At night, she cannot escape the memories.
The moment plays out again and again behind her eyes. It is a late night just like any other. A delicious dinner, and long conversation over good wine, had come to its inevitable end. They sit outside on a bench, staring up at the night sky. The storm had come and gone, leaving the stars to shine in all their glory. “And that one definitely looks like your big ears!” She leans against him, a little tipsy and oh so happy. That would be the last time she felt that emotion for a good long while.
Stumbling a little, they get to their feet, making their way towards their car. Watching from the outside, Maia cannot help but scream at her past self. Maybe this time they will pause or take a different way. But it never changes. A dark shadow peels from the alley, snatching at her handbag. She screams, starting a short tug of war that she has no hope in winning.
Leo, always a protector, steps in front of her, reaching towards the thief.
“Hey, give that back. Someone, help!” He reaches for the bag, before freezing. One slow hand goes to his stomach. Pulling it away, the red drips off the ends of his fingers, landing softly upon the ground.
In her mindless panic, she tries to help. She places pressure on the wound, her body weight trying to keep the blood inside his body. She alternates between babbling at the emergency services and at her fiancé. “Come on, love, you’ll be just fine. It’s not as bad as it looks. People are on the way. You just need to hold on a little longer.”
It is not enough.
Later that night, after the paramedics have been and gone, Maia stands in the bathroom. The blood may look like it is gone, but still she scrubs, until her skin is bright red. The guilt stains her fingers, a brand she will never escape. She looks up, but all that looks back is the thief.
She always wakes then, sweat soaked sheets and throat hoarse from the screams. In any other situation, the routine might start to become mundane. But each night is worse than the last, and the exhaustion soon starts to weigh on her as well.
Maia throws herself into her work. She works long hours, taking on additional projects. It is unhealthy, she knows that, but it is familiar in a world that has devolved into chaos. It is a form of escapism that she can seize onto, and that is enough for her right now.
One morning, weeks in, her manager calls her into his office. She sits, hands clasped, declining the offered water. His blank expression gives nothing away.
Chris eventually breaks the silence. “And how are you this morning?”
“Good, good. Yeah, everything is going well. Keeping busy, on top of things.”
He sighs. “And that is our problem. Myself and others have noticed that you are consumed by your work to a frankly frightening degree. You are churning through the assignments faster than ever before, but you are now first in and last out. The cleaners have mentioned that they sometimes see you here after hours, working through just one more page.
“While I am not one to discipline an employee for being eager to go above and beyond, this is not healthy. You are going to burn out eventually, and it doesn’t look like that day is far away. You are one of our best employees. I know that things have been tough for you lately, but this is not a healthy outlet. So I am going to ask you to take the next two weeks to yourself to figure some things out. To be clear, this isn’t a suspension or anything, just a short step away. Read a book, go for a walk, just anything to allow you to reset a little. And if you need longer, that is fine too. When you are ready to return, we will very much welcome you back.”
She says nothing, her only acknowledgement a slight nod. Rising, she makes her way back to her desk, where she grabs her belongings and flees the concerned stares.
They match on Tinder. He is fair skinned, with red hair and an abundance of freckles, almost as far from him as she is able to get. He has a nice smile. She hopes that he can hold the memories back, if only for a night.
They meet at a restaurant. She honestly can't remember most of the conversation, other than inviting him back to place. Things quickly progress and he is straddling her waist, both half naked. Kaedan’s hands are in her hair and both their lips are red and slick.
“Come on,” she murmurs. “I can’t wait any longer. Get on with it.”
He pauses, catching something in her voice. "Are you ... alright? We don't have to do this, you know. You can say no at any stage. I won’t be made.”
“Of course I’m fine,” she snaps. “But I would be more fine if you put your dick to good use.”
He pulls back, swinging a leg over so that he is seated on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re in a state for this right now. I’m not interested in being your regret.” Kaedan bites at his lip. “Feel free to tell me to shut up, but is there something you want to talk about? It can be easier to spill all to a complete stranger who has no investment in the story. I'm told I'm a good listener.”
Fuck. Even her one night stand can tell. She might as well be carrying around a flashing neon sign. But what has she got to lose at this point? Besides, she has always found secrets easier to reveal in the dark.
Maia sighs, pulling her shirt closed a little. “You know what? No. I’m really not. My fiance is two months dead and it was my fault.” She wipes roughly at her face, tears starting to drip from the corners of her eyes. “If I hadn’t been so stupid, he might still be here. Grief has become this integral part of me. But who am I without it? I don't recognise this person any more. I’m drowning and just finding something to clutch on to but it all keeps floating away. And now even you are pulling away from the crazy woman.”
Kaedan pauses for a long moment. Some small part of Maia is a little smug that she could throw him like this. "Can I give you a hug?”
She was not expecting that reaction. Catching her tongue, she takes time to truly consider the offer. “Yeah. Yes please.”
His arms wrap around her, toned muscle against her back, completely enveloping her. He leans his head in close, his breath warming her ear. “You are not a walking, talking memorial to him. Even though I never knew him, I do know that no one would want a loved one to put their own life on hold forever for them. That’s not what love is. Moving forward does not mean that you are betraying him. It means that you are learning to function in a world without him, where you can one day look back at memories of yourselves and smile.”
Kaedan pauses, sighing. “I just wish that someone had told my younger self that. Take of that what you will, of course. You are the only one who knows your story. But if you want to share it, just a little, you are very welcome. What was he like?”
"He wasn't a perfect man, no, far from it. He had a hair trigger, with emotions that would flip from hot to cold. He was an awful cook and was completely unable to learn how to pick up his work boots.” She chokes on a slight laugh. "He would always do this thing where he would leave his boots exactly where he kicked them off, under the justification that he would know where to find them the following day. But somehow they kept finding themself in the middle of doorways. The number of times I tripped over the stupid things, I was so tempted to ‘accidentally’ throw them out.” Maia’s lip twitches with an attempt at a smile. “Drove me absolutely bonkers. But I’d do anything to trip over those boots again.”
“Sounds like a bit of an idiot,” Kaedan snorts, “But clearly your idiot.”
“Yeah,” she responds. “He really was.”
She falls asleep like that, cradled in his arms. She feels safe for the first time since the incident, small and shielded from the world. They might not be the arms that she knows so well, but when she closes her eyes she can pretend, if only for a little while.
She wakes alone, the spot beside her already cooled. In his place is a note:
Truths can be more uncomfortable in the light of day. I didn’t want you to have to deal with me the morning after as well as all the memories that we brought up. You are a lovely woman, Maia, and your partner was very lucky to have you. I hope that you can one day find your peace again. You deserve to be happy.
-Kaedan
She stares at the note for a good long while. Picking it up, she can’t quite bring herself to throw it away.
Spring comes as it will, a slow and steady creep until one day you wake up and the world has bloomed again. One morning, seemingly no different to all the rest, she sits in the early morning light, the warmth of her coffee mug radiating to her hands. There is nowhere she needs to be today. She feels a little lighter today, the sun a bit brighter.
Staring out of the window, the reds and golds of the sunrise bathe her face. “Leo would have enjoyed this,” she mutters to herself. And for the first time, the thought of him doesn’t bring with it a stab to the heart or a paralysing feeling of guilt. The sadness is still there, of course, but it has shifted itself into a new form, one that is more mournful and pondering. “He would rush to get his camera but spend so long perfecting the lens and settings that he would miss the moment. That silly man.” Her voice is fond, the memory warm within her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she can do this. Leo may not be here, but she is. He would not want her to live like this, swimming in her grief. And so how can she do anything else but live her life to the full in memory of him? If she has to have a purpose in this life, let it be that. Let her take this moment as a fresh start, not to let go of everything that has happened but to learn how to live with it, day by day.
Maia knows that this is not the end of her journey, nor does she want it to be. One realisation doesn’t mean that her heart truly understands, that she can skip the steps to arrive at the finish line. But the first step is always the hardest.
Maia doesn't think she will ever be alright but she hopes that one day soon she will be better.