The days that followed Sarah's death blurred into a haze for Richard. Time felt meaningless, each hour slipping past in a fog of anguish. His world had collapsed into a single, painful fact: she was gone. He moved through the funeral arrangements mechanically, handling every detail with quiet intensity. Her father had died with her, and with Sarah's mother having passed three years prior, there was no one else to handle these final decisions but him.
Patricia and Margaret stayed by his side through every painstaking moment, their presence offering some small comfort. But at night, when the house was silent and he was left alone, the reality of Sarah's absence would hit him in waves, like a wound reopening over and over again. Their home—once filled with laughter and love—was now eerily quiet, every corner a painful reminder of the life they'd never get to share.
One evening, two weeks after the accident, he sat alone in their favorite park, where they'd often spent afternoons walking together. He clutched a small photo of Sarah, his fingers tracing the edges of her smile. It was his lifeline, a fragile piece of her that he could still hold onto.
"Why did you have to leave, Sarah?" he whispered to the empty air, his voice breaking. "Why did this have to happen to us?"
As he sat in the quiet, surrounded by memories and the gentle rustle of leaves, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it at first, but it continued insistently, pulling him from his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he answered.
"Hello?" His voice was hoarse.
"Mr. Smith?" a calm voice replied. "This is Officer Langley. I'm just calling to update you on the investigation regarding the accident."
Richard sat up straighter, his heart pounding. "Have you found out who did it?"
"Yes," Officer Langley replied. "The suspect has been identified. A seventeen-year-old boy named Tom Morris. It appears he stole his father's car that night, and the cameras caught him shortly before the accident. He was intoxicated, and we suspect he may have been under the influence of other substances as well."
A bitter taste rose in Richard's mouth as anger replaced the numbness he'd felt for days. A teenager, out for a joyride. A reckless act that had taken everything from him. "So, what happens now?" he asked, his voice taut with barely contained fury.
"There will be a court case," Officer Langley replied. "He's currently under house arrest, awaiting trial. Given his age, the system may handle him as a minor, but we'll be keeping you informed every step of the way."
The officer's words hit Richard like a punch to the gut. House arrest? He tried to process it, but the idea of the person who had taken Sarah's life sitting comfortably at home felt like an insult to her memory.
"Thank you," he managed, his voice tight. "Please… keep me updated."
After twenty-seven days since that dreadful day, Richard returned to work. A thick fog covered the streets, mirroring the cloud that clung to his mind. Patricia had gently urged him to go back, her quiet plea the gentle persistence he hadn't been able to resist.
"Richard, you need something," she'd said, eyes pleading. "Something to keep you going." She'd left it at that, but he knew what she meant. For weeks, he'd felt hollow, unable to find his footing, and she was trying to anchor him back to something steady.
The Global Chemical Limited building loomed ahead of him, a massive steel-and-glass structure that always made him feel small as he approached. He took a steadying breath and entered the building, where he was met by a familiar, antiseptic scent that made his stomach twist. This place had been a second home to him for years, yet now it felt alien—a harsh, indifferent world that had continued spinning while his own had fallen apart.
He approached his workstation without greeting anyone, the weight of his colleagues' cautious glances pressing on him. His friend John appeared beside him, offering a quiet, "Good to see you back."
Richard managed a nod, but even that small response felt exhausting. Every beaker and apparatus around him was as familiar as it was foreign. As he immersed himself in his work, trying to drown out his thoughts, memories slipped through. He glanced at the clock and remembered Sarah's playful teasing about his meticulous routines, or heard a colleague laugh and imagined it was her.
Hours passed, blurring into one another as he immersed himself in chemical analyses, testing samples, and performing calculations with intense focus. For those fleeting moments, the work managed to dull the ache, but it was only a brief escape. By the end of the day, the emptiness had returned, sharper and heavier than before. The routine Patricia had hoped would help him heal instead felt hollow.
He left the lab that evening feeling as though he were sleepwalking. Outside, dusk settled over Manchester, casting a faint glow over the streetlights. The bus ride back home was quiet, the usual chatter and laughter around him subdued in his ears.
In the days that followed, Richard settled into a routine. Every morning, he forced himself out of bed, steeling himself against the weight of emptiness that waited for him. The lab became his refuge—a place where he could lose himself in the details of his work, where numbers and formulas replaced the memories that haunted him.
Yet the pain would surface, uninvited, in the quiet moments. He'd find himself staring at the ceiling late at night, his mind spinning with thoughts of what could have been. Patricia and Margaret continued to support him, their quiet presence a source of strength, but he kept a distance, afraid that if he let down his guard, he would fall apart completely.
The days would pass, and the grief would remain, but he knew he wasn't alone. Patricia's words echoed in his mind, offering a small thread of solace. Maybe, one day, he could remember Sarah not only with sorrow but with a fragile, enduring love.