Hold On I Still Need You

-Finding Strength-

Keefe's POV:

I sat by the water, my legs stretched out, hands resting on the cool, smooth stones beneath me. The sun dipped slowly below the horizon, painting the sky with vibrant streaks of red and gold. I watched in stillness, mirroring the calmness of the sea, but my mind was far from quiet. Foster's absence had left a void that seemed impossible to fill, yet with time, the ache had softened, becoming more manageable.

It felt like a lifetime since her laughter had filled the air, but I knew that her memory would always linger, shaping my every step. The person I had been before her death was gone, but the man I had become—stronger, more focused—was a testament to the love she had given me.

The wind whispered through the trees, and I closed my eyes, letting the peaceful sounds of nature wash over me. Sophie's love was still with me, a quiet strength I could carry forward. Taking a deep breath, I stood, ready to face whatever came next.

I stood at the base of Sophie's favorite tree, the one she had named "Calla." The sight of it always brought a sense of peace. Its gnarled branches reached out like they were embracing the world. She had chosen this spot herself, and it seemed like the perfect place to honor her. The tree was a quiet monument to everything she was—strong, unyielding, yet gentle.

I knelt down and gently placed the fresh flowers at the base of the tree, feeling the cool earth beneath my hands. Memories of Sophie rushed back to me, causing a sharp breath to catch in my throat. I could almost hear her laughter and see the sparkle in her eyes when she was about to embark on a new, daring adventure. Sophie had a gift for making everything seem achievable, even in the midst of chaos.

I rested my forehead against the bark for a moment, speaking to her as I always did when I visited—as if she were still here. "I'm doing my best, Soph," I whispered. "We're making progress. I'm doing the work we talked about—honoring your memory in every step. I just hope I'm making you proud."

Tears welled up unexpectedly. They were different from the tears I used to suppress—the ones I thought would show weakness. Now, I allowed them to flow. The grief, the raw ache in my chest, was a testament to the depth of my love for her. It was a connection that death couldn't sever. And for the first time, I realized it was okay to feel this way. It was okay to miss her.

In the calm that ensued, a serene tranquility enveloped me. Sophie's enduring strength and her love for those she cherished continued to resonate. It was evident in the projects we had initiated, in the lives she had touched, and in the cherished memories I held dear. Regardless of the passage of time, Sophie's essence would forever linger in this space and within my heart.

The weight of Sophie's legacy hangs heavy on my shoulders. Every day, I try to carry it with the grace and strength she showed, but there are moments when I falter. Doubts creep in, questioning if I'm doing enough, if I'm truly honoring her in the way she would have wanted.

There are so many decisions to be made, so many people to help, and I can feel the pressure pushing down on me. Sophie had always been the guiding light, the one who knew exactly what to say when I was lost or unsure. But now, I'm alone with this responsibility, and it's hard to shake the feeling that I'm not doing it right. How can I possibly live up to the expectations she set?

I reached out to the others—Biana, Fitz, and Dex—hoping they could give me some clarity. They were the closest people to Sophie, the ones who had shared in her vision. Sitting together, I voiced my concerns, the gnawing fear that I wasn't enough, that I would let her down. "Am I living up to what Sophie would have wanted?" I asked, my voice low, unsure.

Biana placed a hand on my shoulder, her eyes filled with understanding. "You are. You're doing exactly what she would have wanted," she said, her voice firm but kind. Fitz nodded in agreement. "Sophie believed in you. She always saw the best in you, even when you didn't."