I was alone. I stopped playing the piano, dancing around the kitchen, and barely spoke. The silence in our house wasn’t peaceful; it was deafening, as I drowned in grief, unable to imagine any future. Every morning, I woke up feeling the empty weight of the bed beside me.

I felt lost, lonely, and utterly incapable of imagining a future that brought me any happiness. But running a small antique store saved me. After Alaric passed, I would stay late, cleaning brass pieces that didn’t need the work or rearranging shelves that no one browsed.

I needed to be busy; otherwise, the grief would swallow me whole.

It was a stormy night in late October when it happened.