Chapter 17: A moment to breathe

Abigail pushed open the door to the small coffee shop, the rich smell of roasted beans and warm pastries wrapping around her like a soft blanket. The place was cozy, sunlight filtering through tall windows and catching on dust motes that danced lazily in the air. She spotted Callie, Zoe, and Marcus sitting at a corner table, mugs in hand, looking tense but relieved to see her.

“Abby,” Callie said softly, standing as she approached. “We’re glad you came.”

Abigail forced a small, tired smile. “I… I needed this,” she admitted, sliding into the seat across from them.

Zoe reached over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We all did,” she said. “We… we need each other right now.”

Marcus stirred his coffee absently, eyes thoughtful. “It doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “Maya… it’s so sudden. We can’t just ignore it.”

Abigail nodded, swallowing hard. “I keep thinking I should have seen it coming… or done something. Anything.” Her voice cracked, and Zoe immediately reached over, pulling her into a comforting hug.

“None of this is your fault, Abby,” Zoe whispered. “We’re all in this together. You’re not alone.”

Callie added, “We know it hurts. We know it feels impossible. But we can grieve together, okay? We don’t have to do this by ourselves.”

Abigail blinked, trying to hold back tears, but they slipped anyway. Marcus reached across the table, his hand resting over hers. “We’ll help each other remember her,” he said. “Talk about her, laugh about her, cry about her. Whatever we need.”

For the first time that day, Abigail felt a small flicker of warmth. Surrounded by her friends, she realized she didn’t have to face the crushing emptiness alone. They shared memories of Maya—the way she laughed too loud in quiet rooms, how she always stole the last cookie, the sarcastic little notes she’d leave on everyone’s desk.

“Remember when she tried to organize that karaoke night?” Abigail said, a small smile forming despite the tears. “And no one sang except her?”

Callie laughed softly, shaking her head. “She went on anyway, belting her heart out like she was the only person in the room.”

Zoe giggled. “She always made the best out of everything. Even when things were hard, she made us laugh.”

The four of them sat together in the soft hum of the coffee shop, talking, sharing, grieving—but also remembering. The warmth of friendship wrapped around Abigail like a protective shield, and for a few fleeting hours, the sharp sting of loss dulled just enough for her to breathe.

Outside, the city moved on, indifferent to their grief, but inside, among familiar faces and the comforting scent of coffee, Abigail realized she wasn’t completely alone—and maybe, just maybe, that could help her start to heal.