I haven’t slept with a woman since Alana. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands, but sleepovers weren’t a thing I allowed. At least not until right now.

Having Vada sleeping against my chest feels intimate, yet I’m not pushing her away like I should—like I usually do. Her body heat feels nice, and for the first time, I’m not going to bed feeling empty and alone.

Even if that’s exactly how I wanted it all these years.

Closing my eyes, flashes of Alana and the memory of the life we shared evades my mind. I manage to get a few hours’ sleep before those memories wake me.

After a half hour of watching Vada sleep next to me, I decide to stop fighting it and get out of bed. I slide on my shorts, and before leaving the guest bedroom, I turn around and stare at her. I don’t know what comes over me, but I walk to her side of the bed, pull off the covers, and wrap her in my arms. As quietly as I can, I carry her out of the room and walk us to my bedroom where I lay her down and cover her back up. She looks good in here. Looks right.

And that scares the shit out of me.

The guest room is the only bed I’ve let women be with me in, and the status of being a one-night only hookup doesn’t fit right with Vada. I know I’ve set the rules for us, and we both know what to expect of this, but our connection isn’t on the same level as a random one-night stand. Leaving her in there just didn’t feel right.

Once I’m in the hallway, I shut the door and tiptoe down the stairs. I decide to make a pot of coffee since I know sleep won’t be coming to me anytime soon.

After filling up my mug, I head upstairs and go to the tower. The sun should be rising shortly, and the tower has a perfect view of it.

Memories of Alana and I first looking at this house comes to mind. We met in a small town, high school sweethearts you could say, and were each other’s firsts. Everyone expected us to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.

Too bad life had other plans for us.

After living the apartment life for two years, we decided it was time to start house hunting. It just so happened we found the right one at just the right time. Alana was six months pregnant when we found our house.

“Babe, come check the view from up here!” she called from the third story when I was still climbing the stairs to the second floor. It was a traditional southern house with original wood, wraparound porch with three-bedrooms and two point five bathrooms. It even had a big yard, which was something we both wanted.

“Coming, hold on,” I called back. “How’d you get up there so fast?”

Alana might’ve been pregnant, but she didn’t let that stop her. She was as active as she’d always been. Both in and out of the bedroom.

“This is the part of the house I wanted to see the most. It’s amazing,” she said with adoration in her voice.

I finally caught up to her, taking the final steps into the tower. Windows surrounded it in a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. You could see for miles up here.

“Wow,” I said as I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. She covered my hands with hers as we stood in the middle of the tower and just stared out.

“I know,” she whispered. “Imagine all the sunrises and sunsets we could watch from up here.”

“And fireworks over the water,” I added. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s like being on the Eiffel Tower.” She beamed, and I knew no other house would even come close to this one. Alana had been obsessed with the Eiffel Tower since our honeymoon when we visited a couple years ago. The beauty of it inspired her to focus more on what made her happy.

“I could do all my pottery up here,” she told me as we both glanced around the space. “Put my wheel in the middle, my wood shelves along that wall over there for all my mugs, and put the kiln on the other wall. What do you think?” She looked over her shoulder at me with pleading eyes. Alana loved pottery, and even more, loved creating it. I couldn’t deny her of what made her truly happy, especially if it meant I got to see that beautiful smile every day.

“I think you’re absolutely right. The space is perfect for it, and you really can’t beat the view.” I gave her a tight squeeze for emphasis. “You think you’ll still have time after the baby arrives?”

“Probably not at first, but eventually when we have a schedule down,” she explained, and I agreed.

“Good.” I kissed the top of her head. “You’re too talented not to.”

“If you don’t buy me this house, I’ll divorce you,” she teased with a laugh.

“It’s pretty perfect,” I agreed. I turned her around and knelt down. Rubbing a hand over her belly, I spoke softly, “What do you think, Paris? Do you want this to be your first home?” I looked up at Alana, smiling down at me as I talked to our daughter.

Seconds later, she kicked.

And that was all the confirmation we needed.

We put in an offer, and a month later, we moved in. I’d spent the following few weeks finishing up the nursery, knowing Alana wanted it perfect. The house needed some updating, but I knew we’d have to do a little here and there until it was complete. It was something we were supposed to do together.

At thirty-two weeks, Alana went into early labor and had no choice but to deliver. She was preeclamptic, and the doctor didn’t want to risk waiting longer. As much as we were excited to finally be meeting our little girl, I was also scared. Becoming a father for the first time is something I’ve been thinking about for years. Especially with Alana.

Everything started out smoothly as they induced Alana, and it became a waiting game as she started getting contractions. The doctor warned us it could be awhile before she’d be ready to push, so in attempt to keep her distracted, we talked about all the remodeling plans we had for the new house.

The next several hours were spent getting Alana ice, rubbing her back and shoulders, and massaging her feet. The contractions became more intense and closer together. She was tough, always had been, and even though she wanted to have a natural birth as much as possible, she started to beg for an epidural.

“Alana,” I said softly. “You’re doing great, baby. Are you sure you want the epidural?” I asked because she had made me promise to not let her get one, even though I didn’t see any reason not to when she was in this much pain.

“I can’t bear the pain, E. It’s like she’s clawing her way out,” she cried, and I winced. I couldn’t stand watching her suffer any longer.

“Okay, baby.” I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’ll tell the doctor.”

“Ah!” she screamed out and clenched my fingers in a forceful fist. She squeezed her eyes and lips, and I knew something was wrong.

I paged the nurse, and shortly after she came back in the room, she checked all of Alana’s stats on the monitor and read the contractions record. The baby monitor that wrapped around her belly had shifted slightly.

Once the nurse retightened the strap and the stats flashed on the screen, a look of worry flashed across her face.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, concerned.

“The baby’s heartbeat is slower than I’d like, so I’m just going to page the doctor and have him come check you out.”

She rushed out before I could ask more questions.

“Is the baby going to be okay?” Alana’s eyes watered, and I knew I had to keep her calm.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but the doctor will come and check,” I reassured her, but I wasn’t certain myself.

Within a few minutes, the doctor had arrived and checked hers and the baby’s stats again. Two nurses followed.

“Alana, we’re going to roll you to your side and see if that helps increase the heartbeat. Okay?”

The nurses helped Alana get comfortable on her side, and after a moment, the heart rate went back up.

“Perfect.” The doctor smiled.

“Is she okay?” Alana asked.

“She is for now, but if the heart rate drops again, we’ll have to deliver via C-section.”

“What? Why?” Alana cried, looking panicked.

“Vaginal delivery is too risky if the baby is in distress. Her heart rate decreasing during birth could put her at risk for too many complications, and I’d like to avoid all that.” His words come out rehearsed, and I wish he’d give us some closure that everything was going to be okay.

We waited an hour before the doctor returned and told us the bad news.

“I’m sorry, the heart rate isn’t staying as steady as much as I’d like. I’d feel more confident if we did a C-section to avoid any other risks.”

Since she was preeclamptic, she was already a high-risk case, so we had no choice but to follow the doctor’s orders.

Everything happened so fast after that. The nurses prepped Alana for surgery, and I changed into scrubs. They gave us a briefing of what to expect, but no matter what they told us, none of it felt real.

They took Alana in first, and once the doctor was ready, the nurse escorted me inside by her.

“Baby,” I whispered, kissing her cheek. She looked terrified and as scared as I was, I couldn’t let her see that.

“E,” she whispered back. “Please tell me she’s going to be okay.”

I kissed her again. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise, okay?” I flashed her a smile. I couldn’t see much over the sheet they put between Alana and the doctor, but I could tell she felt some discomfort.

“You okay?”

“I can feel pressure, that’s all. It feels weird.”

“Well, in just a minute, we’re going to have a daughter. Can you believe it?” I smiled so wide as I held her hand.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. Are you ready?” the doctor announced. I was anxious but so excited to meet my daughter. “Here she is.” He lifted her up briefly giving us just a peek at her. “She’s beautiful, congratulations,” he said after handing her off to one of the nurses.

“Oh my God,” Alana cried. I knew she was upset about not having a natural delivery, but having my two girls healthy and safe was the most important thing.

“She looks just like you,” I said. “So beautiful.” I kissed her softly on the lips. “Thank you.”

Tears poured from her eyes and fell down her face. “For what?”

“For the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.”

I kissed her again.

“Can you go with her? She’s going to be in the NICU, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“I don’t want to leave you, baby…” I was so damn torn. I needed to make sure Paris was okay, but at the same time, it felt like I was abandoning Alana.

“I’ll be okay,” she promised with a hand squeeze. “They have to finish putting my stomach back together and then set me up in a room anyway.”

“Are you sure?” I looked around the room as the doctor continued working on Alana and the nurses tended to Paris.

“Yes. Go, please!”

I kissed her once more. “I love you, baby. I’ll get an update on Paris as soon as I can, okay?”

“I love you, too, E.” She smiled up at me, and we both stared into each other’s eyes as I walked toward the nurses.

They cleaned Paris and were preparing to transfer her. She looked so small in the incubator, and I still couldn’t believe she was ours.

“Is she okay?” I asked a nurse who was looking at her chart.

“Her breathing is unsteady, and she looks jaundiced, but everything else looks okay so far.” She smiled up at me. “They’ll take good care of her up in the NICU. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

Another nurse introduced herself as she arrived and explained she’d be the one bringing Paris down to the NICU. I followed her as she wheeled the little cart to the elevator and took us to the fifth floor. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any of this, and I felt like a damn fool.

As we walked the quiet path down the hallway, I could see in the other rooms. Tiny, helpless babies all in incubators. I’d never witnessed anything like it in my life.

I was anxious to get back to Alana, but I knew she’d want me to stay with Paris until I had a solid update. My baby girl was covered in tubes. A breathing tube and feeding tube, along with a variety of monitors.

The scene broke me.

I felt incredibly helpless as I watched our newborn baby fighting to breathe. She was premature, weighing only four pounds, and I wanted nothing more than for her to stay strong and healthy.

About an hour later, the doctor who did Alana’s C-section knocked on the door, and as soon as I saw his glum expression, I stood from my chair and walked toward him.

I waited for him to speak, but his eyes flickered to Paris and back to mine before he finally did.

“There were some complications with Alana,” he began, and I felt my entire world ripped out from under me.

Those memories continue to haunt me in every aspect of my life. I blamed and beat myself over not being there for her when she needed me the most—completely vulnerable and exposed. To have to choose between being by my wife’s side or my newborn baby was a game I couldn’t win. I’d already felt guilty for leaving her in the operating room, but either choice would’ve been the wrong one. That’s something I know I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, after planning my wife’s funeral and burying her, I watched helplessly as my baby girl fought for her life. Two weeks after I lost Alana, I lost Paris, too. She was too little, too sick, and I was heartbroken all over again.

I lost more than my wife and daughter—I’d also lost myself—and it’s prevented me from ever wanting to fall in love again. At first, it was acceptable to grieve the way I did. I shut down, unable to step into the tower surrounded by her pottery and things, but when I heard a mouse up there one night, I went into a blind rage.

Being around her things that were left as if she were coming back to me, set me off. It mocked me, taunting me of everything I’d lost. All her clay and supplies. Her bowls and mugs. The old radio we bought at a rummage sale she’d play while working. The room still smelled like her.

The mouse squeaked as it ran across the room toward the other end, stealing my attention. Without thinking, I grabbed one of the empty buckets and threw it in his direction. I knew I’d miss, but the moment I released my grip, anger filled my body.

I grabbed the next bucket and threw that, too. Then another. Picking up and throwing anything I could get my hands on. For a solid minute, I destroyed everything in my way. By the time I stopped, I was out of breath and silently cursing myself. But releasing the anger felt necessary and overdue.

Aunt Millie found me sitting in the tower the next morning. She could see the mess I’d created and that I was self-destructing. She knew how much Alana meant to me and how her unexpected death derailed me.

“Ethan, hon, I know you’re hurting. You have every right to be, but this isn’t the man Alana would want you to be.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

“What’s it matter, Aunt Millie? My life is over. It’s nothing without her.”

“I know it feels that way right now, but you need to grieve and give yourself permission to move on and be happy again. Alana would want you to,” she told me, although I’ve heard it all before. It’d be two years since her death and no matter what people said, time didn’t heal all wounds. Not at fucking all.

“I’ll never be able to move on from this,” I said, confidently. “I lost my family, my entire world, and my only reason for living.”

“Find a way to connect with her, Ethan. Instead of thinking about everything you lost, find a way to keep her spirit alive within you.” Her words were wise, and I appreciated them, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be gone.

“How?” I asked, defeated. Exhaustion was setting in, and nothing made sense.

“Find something she loved,” she began, waving her hand around the mess I made and continuing, “like pottery.”

“I can’t make what she did, Aunt Millie. Even if I did, it was her dream. It’d feel as if I were taking it away from her.” Emotions filled my throat, and I swallowed down a sob. I’d never felt that vulnerable in my life, and there I was sitting on the floor of the tower, my wife’s favorite place, surrounded by the destruction I created.

“Quite the opposite.” She patted my leg, sympathetically. “You’ll feel what she felt while she was creating her bowls and cups and connect with her through that. It could help give you closure, even if right now it feels like you’ll never get it.”

The only closure I could ever feel was knowing that Alana wasn’t alone. She and Paris had each other, and until I’d see them again, I’d be dead inside.

“Healing is a process, and it takes time, but that doesn’t mean you stop living in the meantime.” I knew she was trying to comfort me, but I felt too empty inside to take her words to heart. I didn’t want to heal. Pain was the only comfort I had anymore. Pain was the only emotion I felt.

“I don’t know how to live without her,” I explained. “It still feels like it all happened yesterday.”

“Try it, honey.” She handed me a block of clay from the floor that was a victim of the destruction. “You don’t know till you try.”

Aunt Millie’s words repeated in my head for weeks after that. I knew my family was still worried sick about me, but depression sucked me into its black hole, and I wasn’t looking for a way out.

That’d been my life for years.

Then came the anniversaries and birthdays.

Those days I ended up blacking out completely. I couldn’t bare the pain anymore, so I drank until I was numb.

Until I picked up that block of clay. It was like Alana was saving me from myself, from the personal hell I created. Somehow, she was still here with me, helping me get through the hard times just as she always did over the years. Learning her craft was hard, and I was terrible. Each day I made lopsided mugs and crooked sculptures, I wanted to quit but didn’t. It was almost as if Alana was pushing me to create, to live out the dream she always wanted for us. That day, I promised myself I’d never let her down. So I worked harder, hoping she’d be watching me from heaven with our baby girl in her arms.

Aunt Millie was right after all—this time.

I smile now when I think about Alana and the memories we shared all those years together. Though I’m completely disinterested in relationships in general, Aunt Millie likes to remind me of Alana and how she’d want me to be happy, even if that meant moving on. I’ve had no interest in anything more than a one-night stand or random fling, but for the first time in a long while, the woman sleeping in my bed right now has me rethinking everything.

The thoughts in my head take me off guard, though I can’t deny they’re true. Vada came barreling into my life, so unexpected, and yet, it’s as if I’d been waiting for her all this time.

These feelings scare the shit out of me because this all happened so quickly, but knowing she’s leaving in a few days has my mind spinning. I want to make the most out of our time together, but I can’t stop the guilt that continues to eat at me every time I look down at my left hand and see the ghost of the wedding ring I once wore.