UNTIL DEATH WASN’T ENOUGH

I lost him on the night of our first wedding anniversary. That same night. One year of being married. One perfect, stupid, delicate year. And then a phone call in the middle of the night, one I still think might’ve been a dream. Except it wasn’t. Because now I’m sitting here in a black dress that clings too tight to my ribs, hearing strangers tell me to take heart, like it’s some medicine I can swallow. “You’re still so young,” one woman said, gripping my hand tightly. “Only twenty-two. You’ll find love again.” I didn’t even know her name. I’d never seen her before. Another one just patted my shoulder awkwardly and whispered, “God gives, God takes.” I wanted to scream. Or spit in her eyes. No one should ever say that to someone whose whole world just disappeared. I just kept nodding like a doll, eyes hidden behind the black sunglasses I wore to hide how swollen they were. It wasn’t even about vanity—it was armor. I didn’t want anyone to see what was behind them. The red rings, the dryness, the disbelief. The blankness. The parts of me that had already died. My head was spinning the entire time. My body was sitting in the front row, legs crossed like I had manners, like I was functioning, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. We had just made pasta and had dinner together four days ago. He kissed me on the nose and told me I looked like a raccoon when I dropped mascara into my eye. We fought over the thermostat and laughed about how no one prepared you for marriage with real things. We were planning a weekend getaway. Nothing extravagant, just something that felt like breath after a long year of trying to build a life together. And to think I still hadn’t apologized to him after the heated argument we had at our anniversary dinner four days ago. And now I am a widow. At twenty-two. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. We were just starting. I wasn’t ready to live alone. I hated being alone. The silence in a room with no one to answer back? I’d rather be smothered by noise. I didn’t have any friends, not really. I’d always just had him. Daniel. My best friend. My only real friend. My home. My compass. My warmth. He did everything—drove us everywhere, paid the bills, remembered how to fix the sink, held me when I panicked in grocery stores. He filled the spaces I didn’t know were empty. Without him, I didn’t even know how to be a person. I didn’t know how to do life on my own. I didn’t even know how to file a tax return. Or pay rent. I didn’t know how to check the oil in the car or set up the Wi-Fi. I didn’t know how to carry a full grocery bag with one hand and keys in the other. Everything felt broken. Even breathing. A gentle tap on my shoulder brought me back from whatever dark hallway my mind had wandered into. “Ellie,” my sister Anna whispered gently. “We should go now. Everyone’s left.” I blinked and looked around. She was right. The chairs were mostly empty. The priest was gone. The casket had already been lowered. Only a few scattered rose petals remained by the edge of the grave. So that’s it, I thought. It’s all over. My fingers tightened around the tissues I hadn’t even used. I stood up slowly, legs stiff, like they weren’t mine. A strange hum rang in my ears. Something about official widowhood sank into me then, like a hook catching in my ribs. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was finality. Just four days ago, I got the call. I stayed home to paint my nails and pick out a movie so I’ll officially apologize to him. He never came back. And now— Gone. Just gone. I followed Anna out slowly, adjusting my sunglasses as we stepped into the gray light. The clouds above looked swollen, bruised. The wind had that thickness in it, the kind that comes just before a downpour. “Well,” I muttered under my breath. “At least the sky gives a damn.” Anna didn’t respond. She just held my arm tighter. She was always the strong one, even though she was younger than me. Two years younger and already more emotionally stable. She was my only friend now. My only human tether to the world. “I’ll drive,” she said softly, holding out her hand for the keys. I didn’t argue. I didn’t even speak. I just passed them to her wordlessly and walked around the car, my heels dragging slightly in the wet grass. Then I felt it. A weight. A pull. The sensation of eyes. You know that feeling, right? That chill down your neck when you’re being watched, even if you can’t explain how you know? I glanced up, and through the car’s side mirror, I saw it. A figure. Standing just beyond the tree line. Covered in black from head to toe. Long black jacket, hood pulled low. Hands at their sides. Perfectly still. Watching me. My whole body froze. I turned around quickly, eyes searching, but the figure darted behind the tree the moment I moved. “Did you see—?” I started, but my words died in my throat. The car honked behind me, loud and impatient. “Eleanor!” Anna called out. “Get in! It’s raining already!” I blinked hard. Drops were falling now, cold and sudden, dotting the lenses of my glasses. I hadn’t even noticed the first one. I got in the car in a daze, shutting the door behind me, but I couldn’t stop staring at the tree as we pulled away. And just before we turned out of the cemetery gates, I saw him again. The figure. He stepped out from behind the tree, standing in the rain like he didn’t even feel it. Like it was made for him. And he was looking right at me. Through the glass. Through the fog. Through everything. His eyes—though I couldn’t really see them—locked with mine. And a chill crawled over my skin like frostbite.