Elelliana collapsed onto the couch, body shaking with sobs from a place too deep for words.
Jerry held her. He didn’t speak. He just stayed.
Days turned into weeks. The burial was heavy with tears.
At the graveside, Elelliana could barely stand. Jerry carried Jessica—now two years old—in his arms. The little girl clutched his shirt and rested her head on his chest.
As Elelliana cried, she leaned on Jerry for strength. People watched—some whispered, others judged. But grief didn’t care.
Time moved forward, even when Elelliana wished it wouldn’t.
She tried to be strong for Jessica, but the nights were long and lonely.
Jerry never left. He helped with bedtime, with homework, with laughter, with tears.
Slowly, Elelliana began to smile again.
One evening, as they sat on the balcony watching city lights, Elelliana spoke quietly.
“I feel guilty,” she admitted, “for feeling peace again.”
Jerry shook his head. “Love doesn’t erase the past. It builds on it.”
She looked at him, eyes full. “You carried me when I was dying.”
Jerry smiled faintly. “And you carried me when the world rejected me.”
Their hands met. This time, neither pulled away.
