A Million Shattered Pieces

Epilogue

"Souls tend to go back to who feels like home."

A grave stood before me. The sounds of people nearby crying filled my ears. Faces that I did not recognize came to me, offering their condolences. Their words meant nothing.

Tears filled my eyes once more, and I held back a sob. I looked down at the closed coffin, a name I never wanted to associate with death carved on my tongue.

Someone spoke, though I didn't understand the words. I stepped forward and placed a flower on the lowering coffin. Drops of rain fell to the thawing earth. Snow melted in the forgotten corners of the cemetery.

Sniffles kept coming to me, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get warm.

When it felt like I would finally break, a warm hand found my shoulder. Another batch of hot tears filled my eyes. I knew who stood behind me without having to look. I turned anyway.

The years had been kind to Brochan Ruskin. He had grown into his body, and the last remnants of his youthful face had given way to a handsome man. Brock's own eyes had tears in them, and he pulled me to him without a moments hesitation.

Many years had passed since we'd last seen each other. The last I recalled seeing him, it had been at the birth of his daughter, seven years earlier. His wife now stood off to the side, holding their daughter's hand. Wavy blonde hair billowed around them both.

Brock held me tighter, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "I'm so sorry about your mom."

"It's okay," I said, wiping away the stream of tears.

For three years, Brock and I had stayed together. He would always be my first for a lot of things.

My first kiss. My first boyfriend.

My first heartbreak.

Two years into university, his depression had returned stronger than ever before. I was able to handle it for a while, but it became too much with time. Our romantic feelings for each other had a way of destroying us both from the inside out, no matter how hard we tried. But not too long after we called it quits, we both realized we still couldn't live without the other.

I loved Brock. I still do.

But he had never needed anyone to put him back together. It had always been his choice. I think he knew that too.

No amount of love could ever fix what was broken inside. A relationship would not fix either of us, and we both agreed we had always been better together as friends.

I did not regret my relationship with Brock, I never would. We were just two people who fell in love and discovered it could never be. I often wondered how different life would be if we'd decided to give our relationship a third try, but I knew everything happened for a reason.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Brock asked, still refusing to let go of me.

I wanted to laugh, to tell him I should be worried about him. Until I remembered he didn't have those problems anymore. They might emerge unexpectedly every few months, but Brock, against everyone's belief, had battled his depression. He had survived.

It was not him we had to bury. I counted my blessings for that every day of my life.

I took a deep breath, pulling away from Brock to stare at my mother's coffin. "She always had a way of understanding me. I don't think I'd have ever survived university without her there to hold me when I broke down."