Chapter 29
The first year without Ethan was the hardest.
Everywhere I looked.
Everything I did.
Reminded me of him.
His coffee cup in the cabinet.
His favorite chair by the window.
The empty side of the bed.
The silence in the house.
I cried every day.
Sometimes for hours.
Sometimes for just a minute.
But every day.
The family was there.
Every single day.
Elena moved in for three months.
Just to be with me.
To make sure I ate.
To make sure I got out of bed.
To hold me when I cried.
Diego came over every morning.
Coffee.
Silence.
Just sitting with me.
Not trying to fix it.
Not trying to make it better.
Just being there.
That was the thing about grief.
No one could fix it.
No one could take it away.
All you could do was sit with someone in their pain.
And love them through it.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
It got better.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But better.
The sharp edge of the pain softened.
Turned into something else.
A dull ache.
A constant reminder of what I’d lost.
But also of what I’d had.
What a gift it had been.
To love and be loved that deeply.
For that long.
I went to Italy on the first anniversary of Ethan’s death.
Alone.
Florence.
The Ponte Vecchio.
Sunset.
Just like the day he’d proposed.
I stood in the exact same spot.
The ring he’d given me still on my finger.
The new one too.
Both of them.
Forever.
“I’m here, baby,” I whispered to the wind. “Just like I promised. I miss you. More than words can say. But I’m okay. I’m getting by. The family is good. Elena is good. The kids are good. We’re all okay. Because of you. Because you loved us so well.”
A soft breeze blew.
Caressed my cheek.
Like a kiss.
I smiled through my tears.
“I love you, Ethan Carter. Forever and always. Wait for me. I won’t be too long.”
I stayed in Italy for a month.
Traveled.
Saw the things we’d always wanted to see but never got around to.
Ate the food.
Drank the wine.
Breathed the air.
And everywhere I went… I felt him.
Beside me.
Holding my hand.
Laughing at my bad Italian.
Loving me.
When I came home, I was different.
Lighter.
Stronger.
Ready to live again.
Not without Ethan.
But with him.
In my heart.
In my memories.
In every part of me he’d touched.
I threw myself into the family.
Into the great-grandchildren.
Little Elena was three now.
Smart as a whip.
Full of energy.
She was my constant companion.
Came over every day.
Sat on my lap.
Heard stories about her great-grandpa Ethan.
About how much he’d loved her.
About how he was watching over her from heaven.
She understood.
May you like
In the way only children can.
“Grandpa Ethan is with the angels,” she’d say. “But he’s still here. In your heart.
