The rain outside spluttered against the nearby buildings and the pavement below, creating an eerie scene only made from such an occurrence. Gwen nursed her mug of hot chocolate against herself as she looked out at the dreary scene before her from her kitchen window. Life here, out in the city, was dreary in itself- the rain certainly didn’t help.

Gwen sighed, bringing the mug to her lips. After she took long sip of the drink, Gwen studied the mug itself. The mug had been just a plain white mug before someone had painted it over, creating a badly painted cat and dog on one of its sides. On the other, there was a person, painted in yellows, blues, and reds. The word ‘Mummy’ was in a cloud bubble next to it. Gwen stared at the singular word, seemingly transfixed. It had been so long ago, that it no longer felt painful to look at. Instead, it felt almost nostalgic, in a sickening way. The word represented a time of no worries, where the only things that mattered were keeping the routine- not being late for work, and certainly not being late for taking her daughter to school. How things were simpler then.

A voice inside Gwen’s head told her that things were still as simple as they were now- perhaps even simpler. Fewer responsibilities, it whispered to her. It was hard to argue with its words, logically. Emotionally, however, it was devastating to even think about. Gwen had lost the person most dear to her, and here she was, thinking about how it was one less responsibility. It was disgusting, sick-

Gwen no longer felt like drinking the hot chocolate. As she turned to her sink, Gwen remembered how hot chocolate was her favourite drink. The urge to drain the mug of its contents down the sink grew, and so she gave in to the urges, spilling out the hot drink in favour of having nothing at all. Why should Gwen have anything anyway if she was going to think things like that? Fewer responsibilities? How dare I.

The sudden grief that Gwen felt from two words was all-consuming; it surrounded her, in and out, threatening to take over. The impact of it almost made her fall, but Gwen remained steady, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter. A shudder wracked her body, and she struggled to breathe.

Count back from ten, a voice reminded her. She heeded its advice- ten, nine. Eight, seven.

Gwen recovered slowly, raising her head first, and then her body after. A couple of smaller shudders went up and down her spine, making Gwen close her eyes, tears already threatening to fall in their glistening glory. If they fell, then the grief would win, she reminded herself. Do not let yourself cry. Not anymore.

Gwen knew that the grief would never stop coming for her, not truly, anyway. It was something that she would live her life with- its presence always looming, in the back of her mind. There was nothing to change that. After all, she could never replace her.

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Gwen could never replace her child, the light that bloomed in her life. She was, as Gwen had once liked to say, her greatest accomplishment. That there was nothing else that could rival her in terms of importance. And it was true, to a fault. However, Gwen was someone that always valued herself over anyone else. Some people would call it selfish. Sometimes she would agree with them. Other times she would remind herself that she wasn’t her best friend or her lover- she was herself. Therefore, she should put herself first. Call it selfish. Call it survival, or self-preservation. She didn’t have a true name for it. Was it really that bad to look out for yourself first? To not jump into the front lines just for someone else? She could never do that.

And that was exactly why her daughter was not here right now. It’s all your fault, she was reminded. Well, that was what she liked to tell herself. Others would tell her that it wasn’t true- there was nothing that she could’ve done- but Gwen never believed them, instead just nodding along, pretending to take their words to heart. But she couldn’t. She never could, and she never would. Gwen knew that it was her fault. There was nothing that she could’ve done- bullshit. Their words were all bullshit. The whole situation was bullshit. Everything in this world was bullshit.

And it had taken Gwen just over thirty years to realize that. Pathetic.

She decides to exit the kitchen and heads to her living room. Right before Gwen was about to plop on her couch, she hears a knock on her door. Gwen groans, heading towards the door lazily, not ready to deal with whoever was behind that wooden door.

Who could it be? Gwen didn’t know anyone who would be visiting her. She had cut everyone out of her life after she was taken from her. Gwen had wanted to start anew, in a different city, away from familiar faces. And so far, it had worked quite well. There was no drama, and the loneliness hadn’t kicked in yet.

Putting both of her hands on the door, Gwen looked into the peephole. The peephole itself was blurry, from never being washed, so it was hard to tell who it was.

But he was unmistakable. His looks too unique, his light too bright to mistake for anyone else. Knowing that he probably wouldn’t leave anytime soon, Gwen sighs, hesitantly placing her hand on the handle. Before she can turn it, however, she freezes up.

Big breaths. Even if you didn’t answer now, he would come back. You know he would. You know everything about him, the voice, the familiar voice tells her. Gwen adheres to it, taking in a couple of deep breaths before swinging the door open.

The sight before her is a man of lean build, with messy black hair and just as dark eyes. His right hand is up in front of him, ready to knock on the door again. Gwen freezes again upon seeing him, and he seems to freeze too. Time stands still for a moment, before he utters one sentence.

“You left me.” And then he leaves as quietly and swiftly as he came. For a minute, she stands there at the door, mouth wide open, ready to catch flies. Gwen becomes torn- should she go after him, or leave him? Eventually she decides that she’s already been standing at the doorway too long, so Gwen steps back and shakily closes the door, shock still in her system. The ring on her left hand burns, and yet she doesn’t take it off. Gwen takes a look at the plain gold band and go back to ignoring its existence. She then takes a look around the living room. It suddenly feels dirty, as if his visit stained the place with his toxicity.

Gwen had gone no contact, and yet he found her. Her husband.

As he said he would.