E C H O E | h.s. Fanfiction

*Chapter One*

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Content Warning:
This chapter contains themes of grief, loss of life, and emotional distress. Some scenes may be difficult for readers who have experienced similar situations. Please proceed with care and take breaks if needed.

The rain hadn't stopped since last night. Each drop pounded against the windows in a relentless rhythm, as if the sky itself was mourning. I sat by the window, knees drawn to my chest, staring out at the gray world beyond the glass. The tea in my hands had long gone cold, but I barely noticed. The sound of the rain was nothing but a whisper compared to the words that now echoed in my mind, unrelenting and cruel.

Harry is gone.

Those three words had shattered everything. When the police arrived this morning, their voices had been low, their eyes full of pity. They explained slowly, as if giving me time to catch up to the weight of their words. "A car explosion," they had said, the syllables soft and fragile, as though louder voices might cause me to break. "It was instantaneous. No pain."

But they were wrong. There was pain. It just wasn't Harry's.

I pressed my fingers against the tattoo on my collarbone, a sparrow in flight, its wings forever frozen in time. My little sparrow, he used to call me, kissing the ink each night before we fell asleep. That tiny sparrow had meant so much to both of us, a symbol of freedom, of our bond, of the love we shared. Now it felt like an empty promise. I was still here, but Harry was gone. And I was left caged in this house we had built together, wings clipped, unable to fly.

Midnight, our black cat, curled beside me on the couch, her purring a small comfort in the sea of silence. She always sensed when I was upset, pressing her warm body close to mine as if she could absorb some of the pain. I stroked her fur absentmindedly, my mind lost in the memory of the officers standing in the doorway, dripping with rain, delivering the news that had torn my world apart.

The house felt unbearably cold without him. The high ceilings and wide hallways that once felt too grand now seemed to echo with emptiness, the shadows longer, darker. Every creak of the floorboards was a reminder that Harry wouldn't be walking through the door again, that his laughter wouldn't fill these rooms, that he would never hold me again. I was alone.

The framed photograph of us on the mantle caught my eye. Our wedding day. Sun-drenched and full of promise. Harry's arm wrapped around my waist, his smile radiant and carefree, like nothing in the world could touch us. I remember that day vividly, the way he had looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered. He had called me beautiful, his sparrow, and I had felt like we could conquer anything together.

But now, even that memory felt distant, tainted by the fight we had just before he left.

It was late last night. He had come home late again, the smell of whiskey lingering on his breath, his face drawn with exhaustion and darker that I couldn't reach. I had asked him where he'd been, why he hadn't called. The conversation had escalated quickly, sharp words flung between us like weapons. I told him I was tired of secrets. He told me I didn't understand.

We had fought before. But this time, it was different. There was an anger in him that scared me, a frustration boiling just beneath the surface.

I touched the bandage on my head again, wincing as my fingers brushed the stitches. The memory was still raw. I had pushed back, something I rarely did, and the next thing I knew, his hand had struck me across the face. I had stumbled, hitting my head on the sharp edge of the kitchen counter. The pain, the blood, and his frantic apology as he rushed me to the hospital. His voice, trembling, swearing it was the last time, that he hadn't meant it, that he would change.