Chapter 7: Shadows of the past

The sunlight spilled across Abigail’s bedroom floor, but it felt colder than usual, as though it the world itself had shrunk since Lila had gone. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the small photo frame on her nightstand. Lila’s smiling face looked back at her, eternally calm, eternally warm. Abigail’s chest tightened.

“I miss you, Lila. I don’t know how to do this without you,” she whispered.

Her phone buzzed beside her. Abigail reached for it reluctantly, expecting some trivial notification, but instead it was a message from James:

James: Morning, Abigail. Coffee again? Or just some sunlight for your brain?

She stared at it for a long moment. Her lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. He was always so…thoughtful. She typed back quickly:

Abigail: Maybe sunlight. And maybe both.

The act of replying made her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t felt since before Lila’s death. It was strange, uncomfortable, and comforting all at once.

She threw on a sweater, ran a hand through her hair, and stepped outside. The air smelled like wet leaves and something faintly sweet from the early blooms along the sidewalks. She tried to breathe it in like it might ease the tightness in her chest. Her steps were slow at first, hesitant. Every corner, every familiar tree seemed to whisper reminders of loss.

Her walk brought her to the small park near her apartment. She found a worn bench tucked under a willow tree, its long branches brushing the ground like fingers waving in the wind. Sitting down, she pulled out her phone again, scrolling through old messages from Lila, saved painstakingly in her tiny digital vault of memories.

“Don’t forget to make someone smile today. Even if it’s just yourself.”

Her fingers traced the words. Tears threatened again. She shook her head, trying to push them away. She had to keep moving, had to keep existing in a world without her aunt.

A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. Another message from James:

James: Hey. Just checking. You okay?

Abigail hesitated. Part of her didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want anyone to see how fragile she felt. But another part—another part wanted to tell someone. Wanted to let someone in.

Abigail: I…think so. Just thinking.

James: Thinking is good. Sometimes. Unless it’s the sad thinking, then maybe not so much.

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. Even through the grief, he made her feel a little lighter. Like maybe it was okay to breathe again, just a little.

Her mind wandered back to Lila’s last weeks. The hospital visits. The coughing fits that wracked her body. The medications she hated but took anyway. She remembered sitting by Lila’s side in the sterile hospital room, holding her hand, watching her grow weaker and weaker. Every day, Lila’s vibrant energy seemed to shrink, leaving behind a fragile shell.

“I should have done more,” Abigail whispered aloud. “I should have stayed more. I should have…done something.”

Guilt burned through her, thick and heavy. She thought about the moments she had spent distracted, laughing at something trivial, feeling bored while Lila fought every day just to stay alive. That thought alone made her stomach twist.

Another text from James buzzed.

James: You’re being too hard on yourself. She loved you. She knew. You were there, you listened, you cared. That’s enough.

Abigail stared at the screen, her hands trembling slightly. How did he always know what to say? It wasn’t that he was perfect—it was just…he understood, even from a distance.

“Maybe,” she muttered aloud. “Maybe he’s right.”

She took a deep breath, letting herself lean back against the bench. The sun had moved higher in the sky, falling on her face in a warm, golden light. People walked past—some with dogs, some with coffee in hand, some laughing with friends. The world moved on, indifferent, and yet Abigail felt herself caught between two realities: the one that was broken without Lila, and the one that might still have light in it.

James’ messages continued, gentle nudges that felt like sunlight in her pocket.

James: If it helps, I can come by later. Or we can meet here again. I’m not busy, and I promise I’ll bring zero pressure.

Abigail bit her lip, staring at the words. There was something comforting in knowing someone cared without asking for anything in return. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing:

Abigail: Maybe. Just…maybe later. I don’t know yet.

James: That’s okay. I’ll be here. No rush. Promise.

She smiled faintly, almost feeling guilty for it. But it was a good smile—small, fragile, but real.

Memories of her aunt bubbled up again, sharper this time. Abigail remembered the nights she had spent by Lila’s hospital bed, holding her hand as the monitors beeped rhythmically. She remembered the way Lila tried to reassure her, even in weakness.

“You’re stronger than you think, Abby,” Lila had whispered one night, voice hoarse. “You’ll be okay…even if I’m not here.”

Abigail pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the tightness there. She had tried to believe it then, but now it was all she had. Lila’s words, her memory, the weight of absence—they were her new reality.

Another message from James lit up the screen:

James: Wanna go grab lunch later? My treat. Nothing fancy. Just…food and maybe not thinking too much.

Abigail laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rustling of leaves. “Maybe not thinking too much…” she murmured. She typed back:

Abigail: Okay. Sounds…good.

James: Great. I’ll see you in a bit. Wear something comfy.

The small gestures, the attention, the way he seemed to care—it all felt grounding. Abigail realized she had been holding herself suspended in a limbo of grief for days. James’ presence—even if it was just through text—was pulling her slowly, gently, toward something like normalcy.

She spent the next hour in the park, reading old notes from Lila, reflecting on her aunt’s wisdom, and responding to James’ playful banter. The words helped untangle her thoughts, even just a little.

By the time she finally walked back to her apartment, she had made a decision. She couldn’t live in the past anymore. She had to move forward, one step at a time. She had to let herself feel life again, even if it was scary.

She sent James one last text before heading inside:

Abigail: Thank you…for talking me through it.

James: Anytime. Always.

She set her phone down and stared out the window at the world outside. The wind brushed her cheeks. Children laughed somewhere down the street. Dogs barked. Cars hummed. Life moved on. And maybe…just maybe…so could she.

For the first time in days, Abigail allowed herself a moment of hope. Not the big, overwhelming hope that could hurt if it was lost, but a small, fragile flicker—the tiniest crack in her grief where light could creep in.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, imagining Lila’s warm, reassuring smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Abigail felt a sense of presence rather than absence. And somewhere deep inside, she felt ready to take the first tentative steps toward living again.