Rescue From The abyss

Chapter 8

I stand outside the familiar door, heart pounding as I finally stepped up to face the family I had avoided for two years. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. But after the first missed dinner invitation, the excuses piled up. School. Work. "We’ll visit them another time," Alex had said, and I’d always agreed. I never thought that "another time" would never come.

But here I am now. Alex is gone, and somehow, I still have to face the people who loved him just as much as I do—maybe more. My hand hovered over the doorbell, every muscle in my body tense. Finally, I pressed it, and the soft chime echoed inside. For a moment, I thought about turning back, but then the door opened.

Alex’s mother stands there. Mrs. Hayes . She looks smaller than I remembered, her face pale and drawn with grief. Her eyes, though red-rimmed and tired, softened when they fall on me.

"Jane," she whispered, her voice cracked with a mix of surprise and relief. “I... I’m so glad you came.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hayes,” I managed to say, my voice barely audible as the lump in my throat tightened. “I... I thought I should visit.”

Her lips quivered into something that resembled a smile. “Yes, yes, of course. Please come in.”

I stepped into the house, the smell of vanilla and old books greeting me. It felt like Alex’s presence is everywhere, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I am in his home, and he isn't here.

"Jane, honey, sit down," Mrs. Hayes said, motioning toward the couch.

I sit down, smoothing out my jeans, trying to steady my shaking hands. The living room is warm, cozy, with pictures of Alex scattered on the walls and shelves. Every one of them is a reminder of what I have lost.

Mrs. Hayes sat down across from me, her hands wringing nervously. “I was worried you wouldn’t come. After the... after the funeral... well, it’s been so hard on all of us.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what else to offer. “I just... I didn’t know how to—”

“I understand,” she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ve all been struggling.”

There is a pause, thick and uncomfortable. I swallowed, my mind racing for something to say.

“Alex always talked about you,” Mrs. Hayes finally said, breaking the silence. “He said you kept him grounded. Kept him... happy.”

My eyes stung, but I managed to smile. “He did the same for me. He was... everything.”

The words caught in my throat, and before I know it, I was blinking back tears. Mrs. Hayes reached over, gently placing her hand on mine.

“He was a good boy,” she said, her voice trembling. “Always full of life, always so curious. Did he ever tell you about the time he brought home that stray dog?”

I laughed despite myself. “Yes, he did. He said he had to beg you to let him keep it.”

“Oh, he begged all right,” Mrs. Hayes chuckled softly. “That dog tore up half the garden before I finally gave in. But Alex... he loved it so much. He had such a big heart.”

As she speak, I could see Alex as a child, running through this very house, laughing with his dog, his spirit so alive and free. It is bittersweet hearing these stories, knowing that I’d never get to see that side of him again.

We spent the next hour talking about Alex’s childhood. Mrs. Hayes told me stories about his mischievous side, his love for adventure, how he’d always sneak cookies from the jar when she wasn’t looking. Somewhere between the laughter and the memories, the sadness hung over us like a shadow, always there, reminding us of what was missing. But for brief moments, there was light—small pieces of him that still lives in the stories his mother shared.