Yellow and Green Aura Colors and Meanings: Starting with a bright sunshine yellow, this connotes that the individual is creative, playful, self-aware, feeling powerful, and is knowledgeable and curious. When the yellow starts to mix with green on the color spectrum, it shows the person as more passionate, communicative. As the aura moves into a full, brilliant green, the individual is dealing with growth, balance, love. If the green darkens dramatically, the person may be jealous or have low self-esteem and resentment.

Week one since I walked out on Dara has been a study in my own personal self-restraint. I’ve convinced myself she doesn’t need me, regardless of how much I want to run back to her, fall at her feet, and apologize for the way I left. Except I know leaving was the right move. Dara is young, beautiful, and knows what she wants out of life. She doesn’t need a broken man who can’t love her. A woman like her should be worshipped the way I did Sarah.

I’ve been making a few strides with setting Sarah free. I’m not capable of removing every piece of her from the house all at once. Her disappearing from my life forever all in one night was enough of a shock. Removing all evidence of her existence…not a chance. With my mother’s urging and continuous chastising, however, I’ve made progress.

I told myself this week I’d tackle the hallway. I’ve removed all but two pictures of us in the living room. That took the entire week. A couple per day is my goal. With each image, I allow myself the time to mourn her loss. It may not be healthy, but remembering those times with the woman I loved and lost is the only way I’m going to be able to get through this. Sarah deserves that much.

“Christ! Sarah deserved so much more than dying at twenty-fucking-seven!” I holler at the image of the two of us on the beach together. One of our quick weekend getaways to Santa Cruz. She loved the beach. The sound, smell, the sand. All of it. Much to my dismay. But I loved her, so I went. I’m so glad now that I did.

I grit my teeth and pull the next picture off the wall. One of her with her parents. I’m such a schmuck. Their only daughter dies, takes the only grandchild they will ever have with her, and I haven’t really been there much since it happened. I couldn’t then. It was too fresh.

Who am I kidding?

I still can’t. Between the three of us, the people who loved Sarah more than their own lives, together, our grief would drown us whole. Except the guilt and shame has its own way of drowning me. Sarah would despise the fact that I haven’t visited her parents in two years.

I glance down at the picture of her, tears filling my eyes. “Then come back and do something about it!” I growl and throw the picture across the room. The glass shatters into a million tiny pieces. “Fuck!”

My heart pounds. I’m hot as hell, and sweat is trickling down my neck, running in a perfect line down my spine. There’s no sound but the cadence of my labored breaths. I squeeze my hands into fists as a hurricane of loneliness spins a vortex around me. I lean against the wall and slide down to my ass. With my knees up and my head in my hands, I let the tears fall.

---

Week two has come and gone since I last saw my meditation teacher. Hell, I could use an hour session with Dara, even just to find that sense of peace she brings to her students.

My heart, my mind, and my soul have been ravaged the last two weeks with thoughts of my life with Sarah. Every picture in this godforsaken hallway has brought up a different phase in our lives I’m never going to have back. I’m down to the last two pictures.

The ones taken shortly before she died.

Chills run up and down my spine as fear and anxiety rip into my heart like a monster with razor-sharp claws.

The first image was taken by the sonogram technician. The happy couple holding up a sonogram of our baby girl. We were ecstatic. After two miscarriages, we finally had the proof our baby was healthy, and it was a girl. We could not wait to call our families and tell them the good news. One of the happiest days of my life, knowing I would soon be the father of a baby girl.

The next image is of our daughter’s face at the seven-month 3D scan. Sarah didn’t want to do the scan at first. Thought it was bad juju to see what God had given us before we were supposed to. I couldn’t help it. I was too excited. Then when the technician showed us our baby girl on the screen, Sarah sobbed happy tears and thanked me with a million kisses all over my face.

I caress the cheek of the infant in the picture. She looked just like her mother, and I suspected her skin would be dark like mine. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I lost the beauty of her before I ever even had the chance to touch her. Kiss her face. Tell her I loved her and would protect her forever.

All of it gone.

My entire world destroyed.

Taken from me by a junkie needing a fix.

I hold the two frames close to my heart.

“Why, God? Why did you take them? Sarah never hurt anyone.”

My head falls forward as if it’s working independent of my brain. I rest my forehead against the cold wall.

“How am I ever going to get over her?”

Out of nowhere, flashes of Dara’s ocean-blue eyes pierce my vision. The scent of sugar filters through my nose, and I breathe it in, taking huge gulps of air, wanting the peacefulness she brings to push away some of the darkness invading my every thought.

Dara.

She’d know how to fix me.

I shake my head and pound at the wall with my fist. “No!” I can’t use her, chew up all her goodness, and spit it out like a wad of tasteless gum. Like Sarah, she deserves the best.

I’m so far from the best man for her it’s almost comical.

A dry laugh leaves my lungs, and I push off the hallway wall and check my handiwork. My heart squeezes as I see the empty walls.

That’s what I am now. A bunch of blank walls once filled with a beautiful life. It’s fitting because that’s how my heart feels.

Empty.

---

Three weeks since I’ve tasted powdered sugar and cinnamon on my tongue. I haven’t even been able to walk past a bakery for fear I’d get in my car and drive over to that quaint Berkeley street and beg Dara to share one of her homemade masterpieces with me.

I’ve fought the pull of her for a full six weeks. I would have thought by now the desire to go to her would dissipate. It hasn’t. There’s nothing I want more than to hunt Dara down and lose myself in her essence.

Kiss her soft lips.

Taste her succulent mouth.

Make love to her luscious body.

Over and over until all the holes in my empty life have been filled with her light. I fear I’m losing my mind. Either I’m crying over Sarah and the loss of our daughter, or I’m bemoaning the loss of Dara who’s alive and well and only twenty minutes away.

Except I can’t move on yet. I’m not ready. There’s still more to do. More I have to let go of.

Set your loss free. Dara’s words haunt my sleepless nights. I want to call her, tell her I’m trying, but I don’t know how. She wouldn’t want me anyway.

I stare at the closet. One half is completely filled with every single piece of Sarah’s clothing, exactly as she left it. Like my mother with my father, every day I look at her clothes and expect her to come in wearing a pair of panties and a bra to pick out her outfit. Every day, for close to a decade, that’s how Sarah entered the closet, ready to pick out the day’s outfit. How do I look at this closet and not remember that?

I stare at one of her evening dresses. She wore it to one of our anniversary dinners.

Which one?

The question surprises me, but on top of it comes a sense of uneasiness because, for the life of me, I can’t remember where she wore that dress. Suddenly, it’s the most important thing in the world. As if the thought of not being able to remember means I’m forgetting her. Forgetting Sarah.

Why can’t I remember?

A tightness squeezes my chest, and my heart thumps wildly. I press my fingers against both of my temples. “Which anniversary?” I cringe, racking my brain, trying to remember.

My breath comes fast. Too fast. I tug at the tie around my neck.

I can’t breathe!

Remember, Silas! Fucking remember! I mentally scold myself.

Which anniversary?

I swallow around what feels like a golf-ball-size piece of cotton in my throat. I rush to the bathroom, panting, sweat breaking out on my forehead, at the back of my neck. My pupils are tiny pinpricks of black when I catch my reflection in the mirror. Shrugging off my jacket, I let it fall to the ground in a heap. I twist the cold water on, cup water in my hands, and splash my face several times. The cold doesn’t even register against the heat engulfing me.

For a long time, I breathe in and out the way Dara taught us in her meditation class. In for five, hold at the top, out for five, release entirely.

It takes a long time, but eventually my heartbeat slows and I can breathe more evenly.

What the fuck was that?

“Hello!” a sing-song voice I recognize instantly calls out.

My sister Whitney comes into my room.

“Bro! It’s me, Whit!” she calls out. “You in the can?”

I close my eyes and smile before grabbing a hand towel and patting my face dry before exiting the bathroom.

I’m not alone.

“Just washing my face. What’s up? Why are you here?”

She tosses her purse and keys onto my big, lonely bed. “Mom said you were going through Sarah’s clothes today. As her best friend and your favorite sister, I thought I’d help you go through it. Pick out a few things we can give her mom, our sister, and of course moi, before donating the rest.”

“Give them away?” I choke out, knowing it makes sense, a lot of sense, but still hating every fucking second of the words leaving my mouth.

My baby sis nods. “Yeah. Sarah was really into helping the women’s shelter, remember? She used to volunteer all the time. And I know for a fact, that’s where she took all the fancy clothes you bought her when she was done wearing them. Those clothes help women get back on their feet, get jobs, et cetera.”

Sarah did love helping the women’s shelter. She couldn’t stand knowing what they went through. “Yeah. She’d like that.” I nod. And my Sarah would. Selfless and giving all the way. “Whit, it’s the perfect plan.”

Whitney smirks, puts her hands on her hips, and cocks her head left and right, giving serious attitude. “Don’t I know it. I’ve always been the smart one out of the sibs.”

I chuckle, put my hand to her shoulder, and squeeze. “You keep right on thinking that.”

“Oh, I will. Because it’s fact…yo! Boom!” She makes a motion of her hand exploding. “I’ll start in the closet. Why don’t you work on boxing everything in the bathroom?”

The bathroom.

So much safer than the closet.

Then I remember what’s in the closet, and my heart starts up that erratic rhythm again. I take a few steps and find my sister already putting some things on my side in a hanging pile and leaving others. The black evening gown is hanging on the right near my stuff.

She stops with a sweater in her hand.

I finger the gown. “I can’t remember what anniversary she wore this to.” My voice cracks at the admission, but I won’t be able to rest until I know.

My sister looks at me, her brown eyes revealing she knows this is important. She stares at the dress for a minute, appreciating the crystals at the top of the shoulder before she snaps her fingers. “Bro, it’s because it wasn’t an anniversary dress! She wore it to the huge album release party for the boy band Daddy signed like six years ago.”

I think back to that party. Sarah all in black, walking down the red-carpeted staircase, holding my father’s elbow, looking like a princess. That was the night we decided to start trying to get pregnant. Must be the same reason she kept the dress.

The flush of anxiety creeping up the back of my neck eases. I reach out and grab my sister’s hand and squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Course. But I’m keeping the dress. Sarah said I could wear it anytime I wanted, and I plan on blowing Mack’s mind at the next launch party.”

I snicker, thinking about my sister’s poor boyfriend. “That boy needs to put a ring on it.” I frown and lean against the doorjamb.

“Mmmhmm. Don’t I know it.”

“Want me to have a talk with him?” I offer, knowing I’ve shirked my big brother duties the last couple years. Now that Dad’s gone, I need to step it up.

She nods. “Could you without scaring the bejeezus out of him?”

I scowl. “Uh, no. What’s the point of having a talk unless he’s scared shitless? Trust me, Whit. I got you, girl.” I promise.

She sighs. “At this point, I’ll take any help I can get. We’ve been dating for two years.”

“True. Except the last time we spoke, he was working really hard to set himself up. Pay off his school loans and get himself a nice pad. Has he done that?”

Whitney folds up another item and sets it on a shelf where she’s accumulating a stack. My guess, the stack is the donation pile. I refrain from looking at it because I don’t want to know what’s being donated or kept. If it were up to me, it would stay right where it is forever, but then I’ll never let her rest.

“Yeah, but get this. You know what that baller says he’s saving up his money for?” She sneers and makes an ugly face. “I’m gonna give you one guess…and it’s not a ring!” Her tone is scathing.

I gesture up with my chin, not even wanting to attempt a guess.

“Dubs. Fuckin’ rims for his ride. And why?” Her voice lowers for the rest of her tirade. “‘Oh, because I can’t be taking my shawty in a POS,’ he says. Like I care about his car!” She grumbles under her breath.

Unfortunately, I can’t help but chuckle behind my hand. Whitney sends a blast of daggers from her gaze. “Don’t you be takin’ his side! You’re Team Whit. Period. Feel me?”

“Girl, I can feel your heat a mile away. I’ll talk with him.”

“Great.” She smiles for a second before it turns into a frown, and her dark eyes assess me. “What d’you think you’re doing? Sitting on your ass watching me slave away while you do nothing? I ain’t yo mama. Get to steppin’. That bathroom’s not going to pack itself. Jeez-us.” She pushes her long braids over one shoulder and fans herself with one hand. “And turn on the air. I’m hot as hell up in here.”

“I love you too, Whit.” I laugh.

“Air conditioning, fool!” she hollers.

“Got it!” I leave her be.

I turn up the air, see a stack of boxes she must have brought with her, and grab those too, setting them on the bed.

“Oh good. You’re not blind.” She winks, grabs a box, and heads back into the closet. I take a box and head to the bathroom with a smile. First time in three weeks I’ve cracked one.

“And I love you too, Si-low!” she randomly yells across the room.

I smile into the mirror and set the box on top of the vanity. I open the first drawer and inspect the contents. All makeup. I’m not even going to look at it, instead, pulling the entire thing out and dumping it all in the box. Sarah never cared much for the stuff anyway, so why should I?

Keeping up my momentum, I take on the rest of the drawers. I’m doing fine until I chance a look at the vanity. Her perfume, brush, and daily products are sitting in an untouched basket in the corner. The only reason it doesn’t have years of dirt is because I have a cleaning lady come every two weeks. I grab the basket and assess that most of it can go in with the rest.

The hairbrush, though, is harder to let go of. It still has strands of long blonde hair tucked in the tines. Seeing it brings the crippling feeling crawling back up my neck. I lean over the vanity and breathe the way I did before my sister arrived.

“You done?” Whit comes into the bathroom and notices me breathing in and out. She grabs the brush. “I was coming in for that. May I have it?” she asks softly.

“You’re not going to throw it away?” My voice sounds rough, emotion spilling out with each utterance.

Whitney shakes her head. “Nope. I’m going to use it when I have my hair out of braids and think of Sarah every morning.”

I nod and swallow down the sadness. “Good.” The only word I can croak out.

Whitney grabs for my wife’s perfume and opens her mouth to speak. I stay her hand and bring it to my heart. “I’m keeping that for me. My wife’s scent stays with me.”

This time, she nods, but her dark-chocolate eyes fill with tears. “You’re not the only one who misses her, Si-low. Except we’re not allowed to talk to you about her because you won’t allow it.”

I suck in a harsh breath and let it out just as harshly. “Fuck. Why does it still hurt so much?”

Whit lays a hand on my back and rubs in a calming circle. I try to focus on the soothing gesture, much like how our mother comforts us when we’re sick or hurting.

“Si, I know this is going to sound harsh, but I think you need to see someone. These steps you’re taking toward letting her go are great. Really good. I mean that.”

I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw tightly.

“It’s just, three years is a long time to hurt. Maybe you need to share some of that hurt with an impartial outlet. Give yourself some time to accept what happened and move on with your life.”

I grind my teeth hard enough to feel pain. “I don’t want to move on without them.”

“Si, I know you don’t, but you have no choice. None of us do, but we’re trying. You’re not trying as hard as you could be.”

Not being able to run or escape is making me feel cornered in the bathroom. I push back away from my sister and lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you talking about? Therapy? Like a shrink?”

She nods. “Yeah. Exactly. When I was at the studio earlier today, I saw Atlas. He gave me a card to give to you.”

“Why didn’t he give it to me himself?” I huff.

Whit purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Maybe because you’d act all affronted, like the big man on campus who doesn’t need help from anyone. He may be your friend, but Atlas is also your employee. Don’t forget who has the ultimate say around Knight & Day Productions.”

I sigh and rub my head, allowing the tiny prickles to tickle my palms. “You think he was afraid to approach me? He hasn’t been afraid on anything else. More than that, we’re friends. Bros.”

She shrugs. “Maybe he thought the suggestion would come better from me. Whatever the reason, I think it’s a good one.”

I turn to say something and get her back, following her into the bedroom. She digs through her purse, which could easily double as a suitcase it’s so huge. “Here. Monet Hart. He claims she’s the best there is. Apparently helped a girl you know. Someone named Honor?”

“Honor Carmichael. I met her a few weeks ago. Songbird. White as a ghost but looks like an angel. She’s hooked up with Atlas’s friend Nick Salerno.”

“The guy who owns the boxing gym and fitness center, Sal’s or something?”

“Yeah. They’re all connected through Atlas, I think. Though the name Hart sounds really familiar.”

“All I know is that Atlas suggested her. What do you say?”

I flip the card over a few times before flicking it with my middle finger. “You really think it will help?” I ask, my heart laid out for her to see.

Whit holds both of my hands in hers and brings them up between us. “I do. It’s time to make changes. It’s time for you to live again and for Sarah and the baby to be free from this world. No matter how much we all wish they were still here, they’re not. But we are, big bro. What do you say? You’ll call?”

I pull my sister into a tight hug. “I’m so thankful you’re my baby sis.”

She rubs her head against my chest. “I love you, Si-low.”

“I love you too, Whitney. And I’ll make the appointment.”