Isaac

Six Months Earlier

Black.

It was a color I had avoided for years. Elegant, sophisticated—yes—but it was also heavy, oppressive. It made people seem untouchable, like they were always a step above.

Black was the color worn when life ended too soon, when everything faded to nothing before it turned to dust. Just looking at it, wearing it, felt like a vice around my lungs, cutting off my breath.

I tugged at the sleeve of my suit, hoping to loosen the fabric’s invisible grip. Though it made my pale skin stand out in a way people might have called striking, black was too heavy. Too much to bear. Yet, I could never hate it as much as I wanted to.

I saw it every time I saw Will and looked in the mirror reflection—my black hair, the same deep shade that seemed to swallow light. I could never escape it completely. It was like a void I always carried, a reminder that something dark was always following me.

Maybe it was all in my head, but I had developed a kind of phobia over the years. Not just of wearing black, but of seeing it on others, because it meant something bad had happened. Like when my parents died. Or when Harper’s husband was taken from her. And now, with my own sister lying here in this funeral home, black felt heavier than ever.

Blue, that was different.

Blue had its own sadness, sure, but it wasn’t like black. It didn’t smother you. Blue was the color of sadness that could breathe, that could lift. The same shade as a sunny sky, stretching out, endless.

There was hope in blue, even on the days when the clouds rolled in. It reminded me that the sky always cleared eventually. I had held onto that.

Just like Josh’s eyes.

Josh.

My ill-fated love.

Maybe I loved blue because it reminded me of him. I used to get lost in his eyes, how they seemed to carry the whole world’s sorrow, yet still had room for hope, even when that hope felt fragile. Blue, in its melancholy, promised something better—something brighter. A kind of sadness that wasn’t suffocating, but gentle, like the sea before dawn.

My precious little sister.

Harper.

She’d always been frail, even before the accident. She never fully recovered from it, and her health only declined after that. Life kept demanding more from her than her body could give.

Her brown hair was like Mom’s, the spitting image of her, with rose-tinted cheeks that always seemed ready to smile. Harper had even cut her hair the same way as if keeping a piece of Mom with her—but it never brought her any closer.

And like Mom, she lied.

Harper had promised me she’d always be there for Will. I remembered a few months ago when she still had the strength to take him to the park. Will had been scared of joining a birthday party nearby. He’d always been timid in big crowds. Harper knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his forehead, and said, “Go, don’t be shy. No matter what happens, baby, I’ll always be here.”

The same words Mom had told me once.

She said she’d stay by his side and look out for him. Always. She swore she wouldn’t leave him—not like Mom did. But that was a lie, too. Now she was gone, lying here, leaving me to pick up the pieces. Leaving Will behind, too young to grasp what had been stolen from him. She didn’t stay like she said she would.

I thought I’d made peace with black. Or at least I told myself I had. I thought if I could ignore it, it would lose its power over me. But standing here, looking at my sister’s still face, black was all I saw. The funeral suits, the casket, the ribbons, the heavy scent of lilies, thick and sweet.

I had never realized how oppressive flowers could be. Their scent was supposed to be comforting, but it coated my throat like I was eating up petals with every breath. And once again, I was left standing in the shadows.

A shallow breath escaped me as I tore my gaze away from the casket. My eyes found Karla. I hadn’t even noticed her, and now she stood close, one hand resting on her belly.

“Isaac, are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but full of concern.

Seven months pregnant, she still glowed. Freckles dotted her face like stars. Her red hair, a muted shade, seemed more delicate than usual. Her tanned skin held onto the California sun and stood out under the endless clouds here in Pennsylvania.

I sighed. I wasn’t okay, and Karla knew it. She had asked anyway, maybe because she saw how still I’d gone, as if silence might let me get lost in my own head.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, though the words felt hollow. Karla didn’t look away. She’d heard that line too many times before.

“It’s okay if you’re not fine. I miss her too, you know? It’s not just you holding all of this.”

Karla’s expression was serious as she shifted slightly, her belly catching the light, and I looked away. “If I let it out… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Without waiting for her to reply, I glanced around, trying to find something to focus on. Will—where was Will? He wasn’t with Karla’s kids.

“Where’s Will?” I asked, a hint of panic starting to burn.

Karla smiled, her hand rubbing her belly in slow circles. “He’s by the door with the Smiths. They just got here.”

Sarah and Henry, Josh’s parents, had been there when Harper’s life slipped away in that sterile hospital room. It must have felt like losing my mother, her best friend, all over again for Sarah.

She had cared for Harper like a fragile flower. She knew she might bloom for a moment, but she wouldn’t survive the seasons that followed. Sarah knew. And still, she had loved her, even as she withered.

“I should go say hi,” I murmured, though my legs felt heavy, reluctant to move.

Karla smiled gently. “Take your time. I’ll be here.” She hugged me, and I misjudged the space, feeling her belly bump into me awkwardly.

“Oops, not the easiest person to hug right now,” she said with a light giggle. Her giggle felt out of place, but it was a welcome relief.

I chuckled weakly. “Thank you for being here.”

She gave me a small smile as I stepped back, her hand brushing lightly against my back. “Of course. We’re family.”

I turned toward the door. The funeral home was small, a reflection of how quiet Harper’s life had been. She hadn’t had many friends, not after spending so much time in the hospital.

Most of her days had been spent behind sterile walls. And as for family? Well, we didn’t have much left. The few we had either lived abroad or simply didn’t care enough to be here. I guessed that’s why my parents had stuck together—they’d only had each other.

A few old schoolmates had shown up. I hadn’t seen them in years, and honestly, I barely noticed them now, too lost in my head to make sense of their faces. Nods were exchanged, a few polite words I couldn’t even recall after they left my mouth. It didn’t matter.

Sarah was standing with Will, him clinging to her. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Josh, the same elegance, though time had softened her features, giving her a kind of wisdom. Will wasn’t crying, but his hold was firm. He understood—maybe not everything, but enough.

Beside them, Henry stood, his usual stoic expression softened. The man who had always seemed carved from stone showed signs of cracking.

Will noticed me first. His arms slipped from Sarah’s hold, and he darted over, almost tripping over his feet in a hurry. He wrapped himself around me, his small body pressing with all the force he could muster. I held him close, resting a hand on his back.

Sarah stepped forward, her gaze lingering before she reached out, drawing me into a hug. Her touch was soft, but the moment held a gravity neither of us could escape. She stayed close, her arms resting around me, her head brushing my shoulder. When Sarah stepped back, she didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

“How are you holding up?”

I knew what she was really asking—everyone had seen it. I hadn’t cried. Not because the tears weren’t there, but because I couldn’t allow myself to fall apart.

“I’m doing my best,” I replied.

Sarah nodded, understanding crossing her face. She didn’t press for more, didn’t expect a longer answer. It was enough for now.

Henry stepped forward then, gripping my hand with both of his. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need, Isaac.” His voice was solid, but there was a tremor beneath it. He was grieving, too.

“Thank you,” I managed to say. “It means a lot.”

It was already the third time. The third time, I had to keep myself from falling apart, to hold it together because life didn’t pause. Time didn’t care how much it hurt. It just moved forward, leaving us to keep going, no matter how hard it was.

Will tugged gently at my sleeve, drawing my attention. His eyes were watery, his nose red from holding it all in, but his voice was small and certain. “I think Uncle Josh is here.”

Josh? No. He wouldn’t be… he shouldn’t have been here.

I shifted my gaze, scanning the room slowly, and then I saw him.

Josh.

He stood in the doorway, looking unsure of whether to stay or leave. His eyes moved across the room, not landing on me yet. Josh looked different—broader, older, more filled-out than when we had last seen each other. His suit was neatly tailored, but he still looked uncomfortable in it, like it didn’t quite fit who he was.

His hair was slicked back, too polished, as if he were trying to blend into this place, trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. But to me, he was glaringly out of place—like a ghost I hadn’t expected to see again.

Yet, seeing him stopped me in my tracks. My knees threatened to buckle. My chest tightened like a clamp, and my fingers went numb at my sides. The last time we had seen each other, we had said our goodbyes—words that were supposed to be final.

Then, Josh’s eyes found mine.

We locked eyes from across the room, neither of us moving. I was supposed to look away, to hold it together, but I couldn’t. Seeing him… it brought everything back. Everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel for years. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet, there he was. My past, in black, standing just a few feet away.