Anne's POV
Liam left the next day, giving me time to gather myself. I needed to do a few things, including making arrangements for the funeral. I couldn't think about that yet. The weight of everything made it difficult to move. I had my secretary do all the arrangements while I laid in bed all day, unable to sleep or do anything.
I traveled back to the house in the city alone. The moment I pulled into the driveway, I saw my sister, May's car parked outside. She must have brought the kids already. Thank goodness she didn't bring them directly to me, I didn't want them to see me with Liam and end up having to resent me when they grew up to fully understand what we were doing.
Stepping into the house, I felt its emptiness immediately. The gloom wrapped around me, as heavy as it was unfamiliar. It had never felt like this before, not until my husband's passing and the guilt that followed.
May met me in the hallway, her dark eyes filled with sympathy. "I brought them this morning," she said softly. "They've been asking about him."
I swallowed hard and blinked trying to clear out the dark mist that was gathering around my head. I wasn't ready for their questions, I didn't even know how to begin to answer them.
May reached for my hand and squeezed it. "Take your time, Anne. Just… breathe."
I nodded and tried to, but breathing was near impossible.
She didn't linger. Work was calling, and she was always busy. I appreciated that she had taken the time to help, but now that she was gone, I was left alone with my children and the unbearable task ahead.
***
The next morning, I stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the counter. My hands trembled as I gripped the edge, struggling to keep myself steady. The warmth of the coffee mug in my hand did nothing to chase away the cold that had settled down deep in my bones.
This was my third cup today, though I could hardly taste it. I would have taken more alcohol today, but I didn't want my kids to notice anything off. They were very smart and sensitive
The house was quiet except for the faint sound of Shelley's laughter from the living room. She and Dustin were playing, blissfully unaware of how their world was about to change.
I turned, my eyes landing on the empty chair at the dining table—the one Marcus always sat in when he was home.
He would never sit there again.
The thought was unbearable, and yet, I couldn't escape it.
I had spent hours trying to find the courage to tell them. But how? How could I explain to a seven-year-old and a five-year-old that their father was never coming back?
I was still trying to find an answer when Shelley's voice broke into my thoughts.
"Mom?"
I turned to see her standing in the doorway, her blonde curls bouncing slightly as she tilted her head playfully.
Dustin peeked from behind her, clutching his favorite toy police car.
"Hey, sweetie," I said, forcing a smile. It felt wrong—too forced, too fragile. I could tell she could see through it—even as young as she was.
"Is Daddy here yet?" Shelley asked, hope shining in her blue eyes. "We waited for him by the tree at Grandma's like you said, but he didn't come."
My heart clenched.
I set the mug down carefully and knelt. "Come here, both of you," I said softly.
They hesitated, then shuffled over. Shelley stood close, her small hand resting on my shoulder, while Dustin crawled into my lap.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Shelley asked.
It was a surprise how they seemed to have some sense of emotional maturity and could sense any slight shift to know something was wrong.
I took a deep breath. "We need to talk about Daddy."
Shelley frowned. "Did he get stuck at work again?"
"He always says he'll come home, but he's always late," she continued. "Is he working on a big project?"
I shook my head, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes. "No, honey. Daddy was on his way home last night, but…" My voice caught.
"But what?" Dustin asked, his small fingers tightening around my sleeve.
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "There was an accident," I whispered. "Daddy's car slipped on the ice, and he… he didn't make it home."
Shelley blinked. "What do you mean, Mommy? He's okay, right? He's in the hospital?"
I shook my head. The hope in her voice was like a knife to my chest.
"No, sweetie," I said, barely holding myself together. "He's not in the hospital. He… he's gone."
Dustin's grip on his toy tightened. "Gone where?"
I hesitated. "To heaven."
For a moment, neither of them reacted. Then, Shelley's face crumpled.
"No! That's not true! Daddy's not gone!"
She jerked away from me, her small fists clenched.
"You're lying!"
"Shelley…" I reached for her, but she backed away.
I didn't blame her. I wanted it to be a lie, too.
"The police called two nights ago," I continued, my voice shaking. "They told me what happened. I went to see him."
Shelley's sobs filled the room as she ran to the couch, burying her face in a pillow.
Dustin didn't cry. He just sat there, his small body trembling.
"Is Daddy not coming back?" he asked. His voice was barely a whisper, his confusion unhidden.
I pulled him close, my tears falling into his hair. "No, sweetheart," I choked. "He's not coming back."
***
The days that followed were a blur of phone calls, visitors, and funeral arrangements. I was exhausted, but I had no choice but to keep going.
I hated to take the calls, because every time a close family member or friend called, it reminded me of my loss anew.
Even Liam came, though only as one of many offering condolences.
I could barely process any of it.
The morning of the funeral, I sat with the kids at the dining table. They were dressed in black—Shelley in a simple dress, Dustin in a tiny suit that made him look so much older than five.
Shelley broke the silence.
"Mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Is Daddy going to be in a box? Like in the movies?"
I winced. "Yes, sweetheart. It's called a casket."
"Can we see him?" Dustin asked, his voice hesitant.
I hesitated. "You can, if you want to. But… it might be hard. He won't look the same."
"Why not?" Shelley pressed.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Because he's not alive anymore, honey. When someone goes to heaven, their body stays here, but their spirit is gone. Do you understand?"
Shelley nodded, but Dustin looked confused. "Will Daddy still look like Daddy?"
"Yes," I whispered. "He'll still look like Daddy."
***
At the funeral home, I stood by the casket, my hands trembling as I adjusted the flowers on top.
Marcus looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
Shelley stepped forward first, peering inside. Her lip trembled as she reached out, her left fingers brushing against his cold hand, while her right held on the flower meant for him.
"He's so cold," she forced herself to speak through squeaks.
Dustin didn't move from my side. "I don't want to see," he mumbled.
"That's okay, sweetheart."
Shelley turned to me, tears streaming down her face. "Why did he have to go, Mom?"
I pulled her into a hug. "I don't know, honey. But I do know he loved you both. So much, and he's watching over you now."
***
The burial was cold, the January wind biting against my skin.
When the pastor asked if anyone wanted to say a few words, I stepped forward.
"Marcus was a loving husband and father. He worked so hard for us. And even though he couldn't always be home, he never stopped loving us. We will carry him in our hearts forever."
Shelley wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Daddy always said he'd come home," she said, her voice trembling. "And even though he didn't this time, I know he wanted to."
She placed the roses beside him, like she used to leave drawings on his desk and whispered a heartbreaking 'goodbye'.
Dustin walked up next, placing his toy car beside the grave. "For Daddy," he whispered.
I wrapped my arms around them both, holding them close as the snow began to fall softly.
Looking up at the gray sky, I whispered, "We'll be okay, Marcus. I promise."