she was beautiful. her hair was like fire, her eyes full of life — laughter danced behind them.
she was happy.
he was happy, too. he knew he was. though it’s not a fraction of what he’d feel if —
no.
his brother was here, on his right-hand side. he wasn’t. it was for the best. there would be no room for melancholy smiles today — only genuine ones, bright and blinding just like hers.
“ i do. ”
he had his father’s hair and his mother’s eyes. his sister was just the same. they were three now, navigating the strip of beach on chubby limbs.
she was still happy.
he was, too. he knew he was. he had an adoring wife and two beautiful children. he must have children of his own, too.
he doesn’t like thinking about it. doesn’t like the way his chest seizes up, the way the pain claws at him, doesn’t like how the world closes in on him until he feels like he can’t breathe —
his lids flutter shut as he lets the sadness wash over him, nails digging tiny crescents into the skin of his palm. she places a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks at her, there’s a sad smile playing across her lips.
she knows.
she knows, and she doesn’t mind.
he’s grateful that she doesn’t.
