The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)

Chapter Thirty Two

Grief is like an earthquake. The first one hits you, and the world falls apart. Even after you put the world together again, there are aftershocks, and you never know when those will come. - Unknown

I sat in my room, surrounded by the memories of a life once full of joy and laughter. The walls echoed with the sound of silence, a stark reminder of the absence that now lingered in every corner.

The room was filled with memories of him—photographs on the walls, his old motorcycle helmet perched on a shelf, and the sound of his laughter echoing in my mind.

My dad's favourite leather jacket hung on the chair, untouched since the day he left us in a tragic motorcycle accident.

As I traced my fingers over the worn fabric, memories flooded my mind like a raging river. The way he would rev up his bike before taking me for a ride, the wind whipping through our hair as we raced down winding roads. His infectious laughter filled our home with warmth and love. Or, late-night talks about life and dreams shared over cups of hot cocoa.

My mom bustled around the house, her hands moving with practiced ease as she baked batch after batch of pastries. The sweet scent wafted through the air, mingling with memories of happier times spent together as a family.

Each day was a struggle to find meaning in a world that felt so empty without him. But as I looked around at the remnants of his life scattered throughout our home—his favourite books on the shelf, his tools in the garage—I knew that he was still here with us in spirit.

Ever since my dad passed away, she threw herself into work as a coping mechanism. But now, for the first time in years, she was taking a break to spend time with us.

I missed him every day—his infectious laughter, his warm embrace, and his unwavering love. But I knew he was watching over us from above, watching as we navigated life's challenges.

Now all I have left are the memories of the thirteen beautiful years we had together.

I felt a breeze on my cheek, even though no windows were open.

It's him. I know it is.

With tears glistening in my eyes, I whispered softly into the air, "I love you, dad."

For love never truly dies; it simply transforms into something eternal—an unbreakable bond forged in loss and tempered by resilience. And as long as we held onto each other and cherished those precious memories etched into our hearts like tattoos of remembrance, we would always find solace amidst the shadows cast by grief's heavy veil.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Jon's voice broke through the silence that enveloped us like a heavy blanket.

I sighed before meeting his gaze. "I'm just missing my dad. He always knew what to do in times like these. I wish I had inherited more of his strength and wisdom."

Jon leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on mine. "Harley, you are just like him. You have his resilience and determination running through your veins. He would be so proud of the person you've become."

Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of my father flooded back to me—his warm smile, his strong embrace, and the sound of his laughter echoing through our home. It had been years since he passed away in a tragic motorcycle accident, but the pain still lingered deep within me.

"I wish he was here," I whispered hoarsely. "To see how far I've come. To have our talks where he'd tease me about not getting married until I was fifty, unless it was to you."

Jon's expression softened as he reached out to wipe away a stray tear that escaped down my cheek. "He may not be physically here, but he is always watching over you. And I promise to always be here for you, too."