Right after our daughter’s funeral, my husband insisted on quickly throwing out all her things from the kids’ room, but while cleaning, I found her note…
Michael threw her a quick glance.
«We need to sort through Olivia’s things as soon as possible. Donate what might be useful to others.»
Something cold gripped Emily’s heart.
«But Olivia’s things… But… it’s only been a few hours since the funeral…»
«That’s exactly why,» Michael cut her off, not taking his eyes off the road. «The longer we cling to the past, the harder it will be to move forward. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Better to do it quickly.»
Emily looked at him in bewilderment. This wasn’t the Michael she knew.
Or maybe she had never truly known him.
«I’m not ready,» Emily said quietly. «Not now.»
«You will be,» his voice sounded almost irritated. «We can’t turn the house into a museum. It’s unhealthy.»
The rest of the drive passed in silence. At home, Emily immediately went up to the bedroom, unable to speak or listen anymore. She took the sleeping pill prescribed by the doctor and fell into a heavy, restless sleep.
She woke to the sound of a voice. Michael was talking on the phone, standing in the hallway. The clock showed half past two in the morning.
«Everything’s going according to plan,» his muffled voice came. «Tomorrow we’ll get rid of the things. No, she suspects nothing. Just do as we agreed.»
Emily froze, not understanding what it was about. Michael returned to the bedroom, and she pretended to be asleep.
There was something wrong in his words, in his tone, but her grief-exhausted mind refused to analyze it.
In the morning, she woke to the sound of footsteps and the rustling of cardboard. Michael brought in a stack of folded boxes and set them by the bed.
«Good morning,» he said in a businesslike tone. «I’ve arranged it. The movers will come the day after tomorrow. Today and tomorrow, we need to pack everything.»
He placed a sheet of paper on the bed. «Here’s the list of things to pack. I’ve marked what can be donated, what to throw away. Don’t forget to check her closet and desk.»
Emily took the list with trembling hands.
It included everything, from clothes to textbooks, from bedding to photos on the walls.
«Michael, I can’t!» her voice broke. «It’s only been a day. How can you rush like this?»
Her husband’s face twisted; he sharply raised his voice. «Enough clinging to the past. We need to live on.»
«You think it’s easy for me? You think I’m not suffering?»
Something cold and alien flashed in his eyes, making Emily recoil. He had never spoken to her in that tone.
Noticing her reaction, Michael immediately softened, sat beside her, and hugged her shoulders.
«I’m sorry, I’m grieving too. But this will help us both. The sooner we remove the reminders, the easier it will be to heal the wound. Trust me.»
Emily nodded, lacking the strength to argue. Maybe he was right? Maybe this was some male way of coping with grief?
After breakfast, which she couldn’t eat, the doorbell rang.
On the threshold stood Mrs. Patricia Johnson, the neighbor from downstairs, with a large pie in her hands.
«Emily, dear!» the elderly woman hugged her. «What a tragedy! What a terrible tragedy! I brought a pie. For the memorial. Strength to you, honey.»
Emily led the neighbor to the kitchen, put on the kettle. Mrs. Johnson said something comforting, but the words didn’t reach her consciousness.
Going out into the hallway for sugar, she heard a muffled conversation in the living room.
«And the insurance, did you manage to get it before…» «Hush!» Michael interrupted her sharply.
Emily froze.
«What insurance? What are they talking about?»
But when she returned, the conversation had shifted to another topic.
After the neighbor left, Michael said he was going to the office. Needed to handle formalities. With leave, due to family circumstances.
Left alone, Emily slowly went up to her daughter’s room. Olivia’s room was bright, with blue walls and white furniture.
Poster of her favorite music band, photos with friends, stack of textbooks on the desk. Everything as usual. As if her daughter had just stepped out for a minute and would return any second.
Emily sat on the bed, ran her hand over the blanket. How many times she had sat here, talking with her daughter about school, boys, the future.
Olivia wanted to become a biologist, study marine animals.
«Imagine, Mom, I’ll be able to swim with dolphins right at work!» her ringing voice seemed to still echo in the room.
With a heavy sigh, Emily opened the closet and began mechanically folding clothes into bags. Each item evoked memories.
Here’s the dress Olivia wore to her ninth-grade prom. Here’s the scarf they chose together last winter.
Emily pulled out the blue silk dress, Olivia’s favorite dress. She bought it with her first paycheck from a summer job…
