A Frozen Man's Sun

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The first month after Frost's burial was survival. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Every corner of the house still carried his ghost. The untouched baby room, the crib that would never hold him, the faint smell of powdered milk in the cabinet. Sometimes I thought I heard his laugh-or what I imagined it would sound like—but when I checked, it was only silence mocking me.

Eral barely spoke at first. She went through the motions, eating only when I practically begged her to, sleeping only when her body collapsed from exhaustion. I knew she was trying. But I also knew she was drowning.

So I made a choice.

One afternoon, while she was napping, I dug a hole in the backyard. The sun beat down on me, my shirt soaked with sweat, my hands blistered from the shovel. But I didn't stop until it was deep enough.

When Eral woke, I brought her outside. She stared at the ground, confused.

"What are you doing, Ice?"

I showed her the small sapling I'd bought that morning. A narra tree. Strong, enduring. "This is Frost's tree," I said simply. "We'll plant it here, let it grow with us. He may not be here in flesh, but he'll live in this tree. In its leaves. In its roots. Every time we see it, we'll remember him."

Her lips trembled, her hands covering her mouth. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt beside me. Together, we placed the sapling into the soil, our hands dirty, our breaths uneven. She whispered Frost's name as I covered the roots with earth.

When it was done, she leaned against me, eyes red but softer. "Thank you," she murmured. "Now I feel like he has a home outside of me."

I kissed her hair. "He'll always have a home. Here." I pressed her hand against my chest. "And here."

But grief isn't linear. Some days she smiled. Other days she shattered without warning.

One night, I reached for her in bed, craving the warmth we once shared. But she flinched away, curling into herself.

"Eral?" I asked, my voice low.

"I can't," she whispered. "Not yet. My body... it still feels broken. And my heart..." She shook her head, biting her lip. "I feel guilty wanting you like this when Frost is gone. Like I don't deserve you."

I swallowed hard. The rejection stung, but I forced myself to understand.

"Listen to me," I said, turning her face gently toward mine. "We're not betraying him by holding each other. Frost came from our love. If anything, loving each other again honors him."

Her eyes searched mine, uncertain, torn. I didn't push. I just held her close, letting her feel my heartbeat until she finally fell asleep in my arms.

Weeks passed. The tree outside began to sprout new leaves. Eral started cooking again, small meals at first. She hummed while chopping vegetables, off-key but still music to my ears. I caught myself watching her more often, memorizing every detail of her face, terrified I might lose her too.

One evening, after dinner, she sat across from me, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

"Do you ever think about trying again?" she asked suddenly. Her voice was fragile, almost afraid of its own question.

I froze, setting down my fork. My heart raced. "You mean... another baby?"

She nodded, her eyes glistening. "Not now. Maybe not soon. But someday. I don't want Frost to be our only memory of being parents. I want... I want to give him a sibling. Someone to carry his light."