CHAPTER 8: CARRYING MEMORIES.
600 Words
Chloe barely slept that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, the scene replayed—the furnace, the ashes, the weight of the urn pressed against her chest. She tossed and turned on the couch, the silence too loud, the grief too close.
When morning finally came, it didn’t feel like morning at all. Just another day she had to drag herself through.
A soft knock broke the quiet.
Not harsh.
Not rushed.
Just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone in the world, even if she felt like she was.
She pushed herself up, groaning a little from the stiffness in her limbs, and opened the door. The driver stood there, neat and formal in a black suit.
“Good morning, Mrs. Harris,” he said with a small bow. “Ma’am asked me to pick you up.”
Chloe nodded slowly. Her voice didn’t trust her yet.
“Come in. I’ll… get my things.”
She walked toward her room, but she paused at the doorway. Her suitcase lay open on the floor, half packed—like it was waiting for a version of her that didn’t exist anymore.
Clothes felt meaningless.
Shoes felt unnecessary.
Everything felt pointless.
But she forced herself to move.
She added a few shirts, jeans, her charger, and her hairbrush. That was it.
Then her eyes drifted to the shelf.
The urn.
Her heart lurched painfully.
She walked toward it like someone approaching a cliff—slow, careful, scared of what she might feel.
Her fingers hovered over the urn, trembling slightly.
“Should I take you with me?” she whispered.
The silence felt like an answer.
It felt wrong leaving him behind, even like this.
She exhaled shakily.
Her mother-in-law deserved to see him. Even if it was only this—what was left of him. Maybe it would give both of them something… closure, connection, understanding.
Chloe picked up the urn gently, as if it might shatter under her touch. It was heavier than she expected. Maybe everything felt heavier now.
She placed it carefully inside her tote bag, padding it with a hoodie so it wouldn’t move.
When she walked back to the living room, the driver noticed the bag.
“Should I carry that for you, ma’am?”
She held it tighter, shaking her head quickly.
“No. I’ll hold this one.”
He nodded respectfully.
He took her suitcase instead, carrying it outside. Chloe followed him, but before stepping out, she turned back to look at the house.
The quiet.
The memories.
The life she had left suspended inside its walls.
She swallowed hard.
This didn’t feel like leaving home.
It felt like walking out of a memory she wasn’t ready to stop living in.
When she reached the car, she slid into the back seat with the urn still in her arms. The driver placed her suitcase in the trunk and closed it gently.
The car started.
The house grew smaller through the window.
A part of her wished she could run back inside and hide under the blankets until the world stopped spinning. Another part of her knew she couldn’t stay there forever.
As they drove out of her street, her chest tightened. Her fingers curled protectively around the tote bag.
She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face her mother-in-law.
She wasn’t sure what the woman would do when she saw the urn.
Cry? Break down? Act cold? Act fake?
Chloe didn’t know.
All she knew was that she needed to do this.
Frank deserved it.
And maybe… just maybe… so did she.
- Writer
