My ring taps against my glass, that knot in my chest tightening, the way it does anytime Amy hints that it’s time to move on from her sister. The same one that’s been twisting since I’ve noticed Antonia more.
Amy places the wet pot on the drying board, then steps across to face me over the island counter. Her expression is kind, but with the firmness I’ve seen when I know she’s going to say something I don’t like. She’s as subtle as a hammer.
“She’s been gone over four years,” she says quietly. “Maybe it’s time she was a memory, rather than a ghost in this house.” Her focus moves to Bex’s apron still hanging on the hook, her car keys still in the bowl, then the family photo on the wall. “Moving forward isn’t erasing her.”
My glass is drained within seconds, my focus on the apron. Amy returns to cleaning the next pot. The boys are still playing their game. If they heard her, they’re pretending not to have. That brings a little peace.
When Bex died, they both lost. But Liam lost so much more. Sometimes Ollie forgets that he still has a mother, while his brother doesn’t.
More than once, I’ve witnessed Liam lingering on a photo of his mother on the wall. Or how his eyes move to her image whenever conversations get tough. The worst was Mother’s Day the year after her death. The school arranged a ‘bring mum to school day’. Liam stared at the note, completely blank.
I offered to go. So did Amy. He took the day off instead. Some voids can’t be filled with a replacement.
I look around. The house still fits me. Every room used. Every photograph a reminder. There’s no reason to change. It’s safe here.
I’m surrounded by love, and that’s more than I already deserve.
But I know safe isn’t the same as alive. And the thoughts I’ve been having, the guilt that feels worth aching from, tell me it’s not where I want to stay.
If I’m honest, I want more in my life than what I have now. And that means leaving those who loved us in the past.