Crossed Lines

Prologue

The house was quiet. So quiet, you could hear the wind brushing against the wooden floor.

I sit cross-legged on the living room floor, my mom's favorite photo album open in my lap. The pages smelled faintly of lavender—the scent her mom had always used—and each photograph told a story she could recite by heart. There was one of my mom and I standing in front of our house, me on my sixteenth birthday, and countless others of birthdays, holidays, and everyday moments that now felt priceless. 

"Are you ready to go?"

I'm brought out of memory lane as I notice, I hadn't heard Eli come in. He leaned against the doorway, his light brown hair slightly messy, as if he'd run a hand through it on the way over.

I closed the album gently, my hands trembling. "Yeah. I think so."

Today was the funeral. The last goodbye. The last moment with her. 

I feel Eli's presence knelt beside me, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. I'm here. Always."

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with hot tears. "I know. Thanks."

For a moment, we just sat there in the stillness, the weight of grief hanging heavy in the air. But in his presence, I found a flicker of strength.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Let's go."

As we walked out together, I felt a small but growing certainty: no matter how broken I felt, Eli was my constant. And in that moment, it was enough.