Chapter 7
1106 Words
Empty Side of the Bed
The house felt different at night.
It always had.
Daytime brought distractions. Work. Errands. People. Noise. The illusion of normalcy.
Night stripped all of that away. Leaving behind silence. And memories.
Too many memories.
Elena unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The familiar quiet greeted her immediately. No television. No music. No voice calling her name from another room. Just emptiness. The kind she'd spent an entire year trying to make peace with.
The kind that still hurt.
She dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl near the entrance. The sound echoed through the house. Louder than it should have. Then again, everything sounded louder when you lived alone. The silence had a way of amplifying things.
She kicked off her shoes. Shrugged out of her jacket. And headed upstairs. The second-floor hallway remained exactly as it had been twelve months ago. Family photographs—a bookshelf. The old grandfather clock Ronan had insisted was haunted. Because apparently every house needed at least one ghost.
His words. Not hers.
A smile tugged at her lips despite herself. Then vanished just as quickly. The bedroom door stood slightly open. Elena hesitated, just for a second. Then pushed it open. The room remained exactly as she had left it. Not because she couldn't move on.
At least that's what she told herself.
Because changing it felt wrong, the bed remained in the same place. The dresser. The photographs. The books. Even the chair in the corner still held one of Ronan's old sweatshirts.
Waiting.
Like the room itself had been frozen in time. She crossed to the window. Pulled back the curtains. The moonlight spilled across the floorboards.
Silver. Soft. Quiet.
Beyond the glass, the woods stretched toward the horizon. Dark and endless. The sight immediately brought back the howl. The tracks. The shadow she'd seen between the trees. Elena forced herself to look away.
Not tonight.
She was tired of mysteries. Tired of clues. Tired of unanswered questions. Tonight, she just wanted to remember. Her gaze drifted toward the bed. Toward the empty side.
His side.
The realization still hit her sometimes.
Unexpectedly.
The absence. The fact that no matter how many times she reached across the mattress, she would never find him there. Slowly, she sat on the edge. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. The room remained silent.
Too silent.
A memory surfaced.
Small. Ordinary. Dangerous.
Sunday morning. Three years ago. Sunlight pouring through the window. The smell of coffee. Ronan standing shirtless in the kitchen looking deeply offended.
"What's wrong with you?"
"The pancakes are plotting against me."
"The pancakes?"
"Look at them."
"They look like pancakes."
"Exactly."
"I have no idea what that means."
"They're suspiciously perfect."
"You're suspiciously ridiculous."
"That's why you love me."
"Unfortunately."
"Unfortunate for you."
"Extremely."
The memory played so clearly she could almost hear his laughter.
Almost.
For one brief moment, she forgot. Forgot he was gone. Forgot the funeral. Forgot the grave. Forgot the year of grief. Then reality returned. As it always did. Elena closed her eyes. The ache settled back into place.
Familiar. Heavy. Permanent.
She stood. Crossed the room. And opened the closet. Most of Ronan's clothes remained exactly where he'd left them. She had donated some things and packed away others. But not everything. Never everything. Her fingers brushed across a row of shirts. Jackets. Sweatshirts. Memories hanging from wooden hangers. Then she stopped.
A dark gray hoodie.
One of his favorites. The old, worn one he'd refused to throw away. Even after she'd bought him three replacements, the thing had practically become a family member.
A ridiculous. Faded—stubborn family member.
Elena pulled it from the closet. The fabric felt soft beneath her fingers. Comfortably familiar. Without thinking, she lifted it. And froze. The scent hit her instantly. Her breath caught.
Impossible.
No. That wasn't possible. The hoodie still smelled like him. Not strongly. Not freshly. Just enough.
Pine. Rain. Coffee. Ronan.
Her heart twisted painfully.
A year. An entire year. His scent should have disappeared months ago. It should have faded. Vanished. Been washed away by time. Instead, it lingered. Faint but unmistakable. Tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes. The reaction irritated her. She hated crying, especially when it ambushed her.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto the bed. The hoodie was clutched tightly in her hands. The room blurred. Not much. Just enough. Enough to remind her that grief never really left. It simply waited.
Patiently.
For the moments when your guard was down. A soft laugh escaped her.
Shaky. Broken.
"You're still impossible."
The words disappeared into the silence. No answer came back. Of course not. There never was. Elena pulled the hoodie over her head. The sleeves hung slightly too long. The familiar scent surrounded her.
Comforting. Heartbreaking. Home.
For a long moment, she sat there. Wrapped in memories. Wrapped in loss, wrapped in him. Eventually, she lay back against the pillows. Staring at the ceiling. The empty side of the bed stretched beside her.
Untouched. Waiting.
The same way it had waited every night for a year.
Outside, the wind stirred through the trees. Branches swayed beneath the moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound drifted through the open window.
Low. Mournful. Lonely.
Elena listened. And for the first time, the howl didn't frighten her. It made her sad. Because somehow it sounded like grief. The same grief she'd been carrying for a year. The same grief that refused to leave. The same grief that whispered there were still answers hidden among the trees.
Waiting to be found.
Far beyond the edge of the forest, concealed by darkness and distance, a massive black wolf stood motionless between the pines. Watching the illuminated bedroom window, watching the woman sleeping in his sweatshirt, and watching the life he'd been forced to leave behind.
Ronan remained hidden among the shadows. As he always did. As he had for an entire year. The sight of her wearing his hoodie nearly shattered what little control he had left.
His wolf pressed forward.
Restless. Yearning.
Mine.
Ronan closed his eyes. The ache never eased. Not even after all this time. Especially not after all this time. Because she looked exactly where she belonged. In his home. In his clothes. In his life. And he couldn't have any of it.
Not yet.
The wolf released a low, mournful sound into the darkness. Not a howl.
Not quite.
Something softer. Something lonelier. Then he turned away from the house. And disappeared deeper into the forest.
Before he did something, neither of them would survive.
- Writer
