That wish had come true. No more piles of laundry, no more endless cooking. But the freedom tasted like ashes. The quiet brought her nothing except grief and a loss of direction. During one of their talks, Father Michael had suggested she consider getting a pet, and the idea had struck her as sensible.
A small animal might at least bring some life back into the apartment. There would be another living creature in the house, someone to speak to gently, someone to care for. Eleanor decided she probably would do that someday—but not yet. For now, her heart was too raw for any new attachment.
The next day, she planned to return to church again, hoping to find enough strength to accept what life had done to her. Meanwhile, she faced the same wide bed, with the left side untouched night after night. She lay still in the dark, her eyes drifting over the wallpaper. Headlights from passing cars slid across the walls in moving bands of light.
The pattern repeated with every car that passed along the avenue outside. Sleep would not come. She stayed awake in a heavy, dragging sadness. Her mind was strangely blank, too empty even for proper thoughts, and that made rest impossible. Only near dawn would she finally slip into a dense, dreamless sleep that felt more like passing out than resting.
Morning no longer brought energy. Waking up felt like being dragged back into a life she no longer wanted. The only vivid dream she had experienced came the night before the funeral. In it, she saw her husband and son clearly, healthy and calm, almost glowing. They looked at her with warmth.
Some invisible distance kept her from reaching them. Her husband held their son close, and the young man leaned against his father’s shoulder and lifted a hand in farewell. Eleanor never told anyone about that dream. She didn’t see anything supernatural in it. Her mind had simply been overwhelmed with grief, and grief had given her one last picture of the people she loved most.
Her exhausted mind had turned the pain of those days into images. It was hard to believe anything more than that. Still, every night she found herself hoping the dream would return. Instead, there was only darkness. With the last of her hope worn thin, she lay still and waited for the weak sleep that came with dawn.
The following afternoon, she found herself once again walking the familiar path to the churchyard. She hoped to see Father Michael and have another conversation that might help her get through the next day. His calm voice and practical wisdom had become a kind of support beam in her life. But this time, their interaction went no further than a glance.
On the stone steps outside the church, Father Michael hurriedly handed a young man some fruit and a paper bag with pastries, gave him a friendly pat on the back, and disappeared inside. Eleanor had noticed this boy before during services. She remembered his thin build, sandy hair, and ears that stuck out just a little.
At a recent liturgy, she had watched him from behind as he prayed, noticing his narrow back and the fragile line of his neck. And now here he was again on church grounds. With a quick nod of thanks, the boy took the simple food from the priest and immediately tore into a roll…
