#abraxo

Inside the house—her house, the house she’d lived with her family—it was almost normal. In spite of the missing pieces in the walls, the leaking roof, the damage of 200 years untouched, to Ophelia it was still home. She could remember, almost like shadows, the memory of life, life of living happily. The slow, rainy days where she and Spencer would sit and watch as rain fell, despite its descent, still graceful. The memories of rocking Shaun, he was so small. The memories swirled in her head, making her eyes well.

As Ophelia circled, touching lightly the dust and dirt across the counter, he recounted things that still stood that she had. Dishes still in the sink after use, the abraxo cleaner, still unopened, it was all a reminder of the past, the past that she’d lost. The past that would never return.

Hesitant and careful, Ophellia made her way into a room she was hesitant upon. It still had everything, crib, toys on the floor. The colors still covered the walls. And in the corner sat a crib, empty, without purpose. She rubbed her finger across its surface. “I’ll find you, Shaun,” She whispered. “I promise.”

And then she let her tears fall.

Gracefully like the rain.