The End of The Unexpected Journey @theendoftheunexpectedjourney - Tumblr Blog

The Unexpected Journey-The End

Author’s Note: Hi! It’s me, Jo. While leaving Tumblr has been good for me, it didn’t sit well in my stomach that I left the story unfinished. And waiting till the New Year to finish it left a lingering issue in my mind. So. I buckled down and I wrote the last chapter. This will be the last chapter of The Unexpected Journey. It skips ahead in time, as I always said it would. And it’s following the death of one of the major characters. Obviously there’s a whole lifetime of story to tell, but this is the end of that story. I wanted you to have it, to be able to say good-bye to the story as I say good-bye to the story. I hope you enjoy it. I hope it provides you with what you need....a glimpse into the future, into the lives they’ve lived. And I hope it provides you with some closure. There will be no more updates after this. I’ll leave this here for a while. If you’d like to get in touch, you can email me at [email protected]

Thank you. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading and responding and encouraging. Thank you for loving these characters as much as I do. Thank you for being a part of this journey. I love you very much.

It had happened over night. While the Kingdom and the Palace and the entire branch of the Sussex family were sleeping; peaceful and soft--it happened. A last breath was taken, the last strum of a beating heart. Nobody really saw it coming, nobody was prepared. It only took a moment. In the morning, the sun would rise and a heart would break.

And the world would come tumbling down.

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“Darling…” His voice was heavy, deep and rich, and his hands were warm and steady as they rested over hers--twisted and fidgeting. “Lillibet.”

Her eye lifted from where they were focused on their two young children, her attention turning straight to him, the way it always did when he said her name like that. “Yes?”

“We’re going to be in London in under an hour,” his smile was full of sympathy, his eyes full of heartache as he drew his wife’s hands into his lap, folding them into both of his.

“I know,” she nodded, her bottom lip pulling in between her teeth, just like her mother’s always had, her eyes shifting out over the fluff of clouds they were flying through. She tightened her hold on her husband and thought over the life she had crafted for herself, thought of all of the decisions she had made; good and bad, well-thought out and spontaneous.

She was eternally grateful for all of her decisions, for all of the joy and pain they had brought into her life. As her mind began to tick them off, the same cheeky grin she shared with her father spread over her face.

So much of her life had been built in the same way his had. She had played a wicked game of polo. She was his natural successor in the legacy he had built with Sentable. When she was sixteen she had announced her plans to enroll at Sandhurst--causing her father to take a step back and catch his breath, and her mother to chuckle lovingly as he looked surprised. She had joined the Army. She had become a helicopter pilot. She would never in her life forget the look on her father’s face when she was promoted to Colonel Sussex.

He had been so proud. Her eyes welled up with tears and she turned her face towards her husband, towards her family.

Her husband Hugh--tall, dark, and handsome. She had found him attractive the moment she laid eyes on him and he still swore to this day that the moment she gave him orders was the moment he had fallen for her. She had been nervous to tell her father that he was lower ranked than her, even more so to tell him that he was a Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force. But true to form, he had laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t forget, when I met your mother she was from another country--and most certainly out-ranked me.”

Thinking of her parents, of how in love they had always been, how devoted to the other--it only reminded her of what had happened, of why they were on a private plane back to London dressed in black.

The tears that had been welling up tipped over and she began to cry.

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Oliver knew it was crazy--to be out for a run, in public, on this day of all days. But he couldn’t help it. By this time on a normal day, he would have already been through at least three meetings and would maybe be on his way to an event. Working as a “full time” royal, working alongside his cousin The Prince of Wales, his days were busy.

Just as his sister had taken over for his father with Sentebale, Ollie had taken over for his mother at The Prince’s Trust. Of all his siblings he had become the most “royal “. He was the charmer, he was the performer. And he loved what his work was able to do, the people he was able to help.

But on this day, this darkly clouded day, he wasn’t going into the office. He wouldn’t be sitting in meetings--at least not the normal ones. And he had all of this pent up energy building inside of him. So, against the good advice of his wife Jaclyn, he had put on his running shoes, kissed and hugged each of his three children, and he had set out.

Hoping to run off this ache in his chest, hoping to focus on something else, anything else other than this hole in his heart, this darkness in his soul.

With a ballcap on his head and music blaring in his ears, he ran.

He ran and ran and ran and ran. So much so he almost forgot how much he hated running. When he looked down at his watch, so much time had passed and he knew he should head back. He knew that he needed to shower and get dressed and help load up all the children.

He knew his siblings were on their way home, knew they would all be heading to their parents’ home, knew that this day was actually only going to get colder and darker and sadder.

He knew there were responsibilities that awaited him, that duty called.

But he kept on running--wishing and hoping and praying that somehow, somehow this was all a horrible dream.

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“Malcolm…” Her voice was soft and quiet as she tried to get her husband’s attention. “Malcolm…” With their newborn baby sleeping tucked into her arms, she called to Malcolm as he stood at the window of the nursery staring out at a multitude of nothing.

It was almost like he couldn’t hear her, almost like he couldn’t register much of anything. It was hard to see him like this. His normally wild, boisterous self had been tamed by that one phone call bearing the news that had drawn him to near silence. “Dr. Sussex?” Her eyebrows lifted, thinking maybe he would hear that, think he was back at the hospital and snap out of it.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even budge.

She took a deep breath and adjusted their son in her arms. “Your Royal Highness!”

That did it. With a start he turned back to her, his eyes wide with shock--as though he had no idea he wasn’t alone. “Sorry,” he shook his head, moving towards her in an instant. “I’m so sorry Rose. I just…” He shook his head again, not sure what the end of that sentence was.

“It’s okay,” she smiled at him even though she felt like crying. “Your sister is on the ground and we should probably get going…”

“Of course, of course,” he nodded quickly.

“Would you mind taking baby Harry? If you put him in his seat, I’ll grab his bag and be right down?”

“Absolutely,” with ease and gentleness he lifted their son from her arms, pausing to kiss her before he pulled away. “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” She lifted her eyebrows.

“For getting me through this day,” he gulped at the emotion in his throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d probably still be staring out that window.”

“Hmmm,” she reached up to stroke his cheek. “No need to thank me, love. This is just...what we do.”

He held her eyes for a beat, thanking God he had heeded the advice of his parents, that he had waited till he found the right person before married. He thought of all the women who had come and gone, those who had been eager to be his wife, his girlfriend--even his one night stand. He had enjoyed himself over the years. But he had always remembered the time his father had taken him out for a walk at Foxgrove. He would never forget the words he had spoken on that cold, crisp evening.

“No decision you make in your private life--and to a large extent your public life--will ever be as important as who it is you choose to be your partner.”

His father had put his large, warm hand firmly on his shoulder and had assured him that his decision for his partner had been the most important--and the best--decision he had ever made.

As his own son stretched in his arms, Malcolm looked to his wife, remembering the day he met her--working side by side in the heat of Africa during his first stint with Doctor’s Without Borders--remembering his father’s words echoing in his ears then. And now.

Leaning into his wife for one more kiss, he closed his eyes and whispered against her lips, “this is what we do.”

“It is,” she smiled and stepped away. “Put Harry in the car. I’ll be right down.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Oscar was the last to arrive--he had always been the last to arrive. His siblings had often joked that his lack of timeliness must have been a result of him being the youngest of four--that he had forever been an afterthought. So now that’s how he went through life.

But his parents had always insisted, had always known that Oscar was an observer, a recorder of events, of history. From a very young age he had quietly watched everything and everyone around them and it came as a shock to neither of them when he had voiced his interest in being a photographer. They had supported him in his passions, even when he went completely rogue, packed up his belongings into a backpack and set about travelling around the world with his quest for adventure and his camera.

As his car pulled up to the gates of Kensington Palace, he looked at the crowds of people, at the stream of flowers and balloons. And he had to resist the urge to lift his camera to take a few shots. In his heart he was a photographer, his instincts were to capture the moment--in his soul he was a Prince. Now, on this day, more than ever.

His Royal Highness Prince Oscar of Sussex.

So he sat tall and stoic and he watched as he drove past the acres of flowers that had been lain at the gates of the palace. As he passed by the guards, as the gates closed behind him, his eyes searched for his home--the place he had grown, the place his parents had lived nearly their entire married lives.

The lump of pain swelled bigger in his chest, the one that materialized when his sister had called him with the heartbreaking news, the one that had been with him on several flights.

The one he wasn’t sure would ever go away.

The gravel drive crunched under the tires of his car and he had to take a deep breath before he could turn and look at their home. It looked just as he had remembered--only busier. The plethora of cars lined up outside told him that his siblings were already there, that he was in fact the last to arrive.

A small smile curled at his lips. At least that would be the same. Reaching for his one bag of personal belongings, he stepped out of the already opened door, and smiled a thank you to the driver. Squaring his shoulders and standing tall, he began up the walk. When he reached the door, his fingers reached out, curving around the handle. He looked down at the ground, down at his shoes and with his eyes pressed tightly closed, he said a quick prayer to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore...and he opened the door and stepped inside.

Though there was nobody in the entryway, he was instantly greeted by the sounds of home, by the sounds of family. There were children running and playing. There was music coming from somewhere, the smell of something cooking and the muted murmurs of conversations. And there was a moment, a blink of an instant where he was almost able to convince himself that they were still whole, that they weren’t missing a member of this glorious family from which he had come.

But then the door shut behind him and movement drew his eyes towards the living room to the left and it all came crashing back into him; the loss, the impact, the devastation. And the pain in his chest cracked and exploded and spread throughout him.

Because there in the doorway, in a haze of grief and mourning and loss, was his father. Tall and trim and shattered. It was as though when his mother passed, she had taken with her all of the light from his father’s eyes, all of the cheekiness from his smile--all of the beats of his heart.

Before Oscar could find his voice, could find his words, Harry was moving in. With the love and comfort that only a father could have, he pulled his youngest son--their baby--into his arms and, hugging him tight, he began to cry.

Just as he had with all three of the others. Just as he imagined he would for all of the days he had left.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It had been late Spring/early Summer, just weeks before their 42nd Anniversary. They had plans to celebrate. Nothing big, nothing like the extravagant affair that had been their fortieth, nothing like the lofty dreams they had for their fiftieth, but the event would be marked just the same. Through all the years, all of the children and grandchildren, all of the illnesses and loss of loved ones, Maddie and Harry had remained solid--together.

Harry Sussex--he still had it. Even as a grandfather, he still had it. Yes, he was older, but so much about him looked so much as it did the day she had met him. His wild, red hair had thinned a bit more and had made way for a dash of gray and a hint of white. Maddie had laughed uncontrollably when Lilli’s oldest son had asked him last Christmas if he were turning into Santa.

He had the softest set of wrinkles that had formed around his eyes from smiling over the years--Maddie liked to take credit for those. He wore glasses now--as she did--and she loved the way he looked in them. She had loved they way he had looked in them since the moment he had put them on his face; distinguished, scholarly--sexy.

Maddie Sussex--mother of four, grandmother to six--and Harry liked to say that she had barely aged at all. He joked that when they went out together, he looked like he was a dirty old man and teased that maybe she should find herself a younger model. After the first round of cancer, Maddie’s hair had grown back darker and thicker and curlier and it seemed as though she was immune to the thinning and graying that seemed to be befalling all of her peers. Her face had grown softer, allowing for a few small wrinkles and creases and her children liked to tease her, telling her she was getting shorter. But she could still keep up with every single one of her children and grandchildren, she could still out-compete most of them and, when needed, she still had it in there to put all of them into their place.

They had been through so much in their forty-two years together; raising a family, surviving crises big and small. But they had weathered it, they had grown stronger, they had loved deeper, and they had become so much a part of the other, that neither of them could have imagined what it would be like to suddenly not have the other.

When the second diagnosis came, they had gone to Foxgrove to discuss their options. Harry had made demands, had shouted and begged and pleaded. But in the end, Maddie won. She wouldn’t be spending what was left of her time with him curled up on the floor of the bathroom vomiting and barely able to move.

She would take the diagnosis and the time they were estimating she had left, and she would spend it with the people she loved in the places she loved, doing what she loved.

And she did. God, how she did. They had travelled all over the world. To her childhood home in Colorado, the Rocky Mountains, to the Northern Lights in Norway, to the red-sand in Bendal. They had gone to Paris and to Germany. They had gone back to the beaches they had sunned on during their honeymoon. And then they had gone home.

They had made it a point to spend time with all of their children, with all of their families. They had travelled with the Bishops to France and had gotten way too drunk, staying up way too late.

It had been exactly what she had wanted, exactly what she had needed. She had read books and drank wine and made love to her husband.

And late one night, after a few glasses of Scotch, she had even been able to get Harry to admit that this was the right decision--that this was better than being sick and weak and tired.

This was living--and she was beyond thankful that she had had the chance to do that with him.

They had known that eventually it would come to an end, that eventually the diagnosis would catch up with her and she would fall ill, that eventually she would leave him. But for a few moments along the way, they had managed to ignore that.

Or at least pretend to.

They had known it would come, had known it would happen. But Harry had never imagined it would have come so soon, that it would have taken her so quickly--without sickness, without pain.

Without warning.

But he had woken that morning and it was all over. Maddie was gone and his heart--his heart left with her.

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The house had been flooded with people since that morning; first staff, then family. As every one of his children came home, he would look at them and instantly see the parts of them that had been her and his grief would wash over him, bringing tears to his eyes and strengthening the ache is his chest. He was so happy to see them, thrilled to see the grandchildren. But he hated the reason for the gathering, hated that she wasn’t there.

That she would never be there again.

Though there were plans to be made, his involvement in them were miniscule. A ceremonial funeral was being planned and after her diagnosis, they sat down to put down the personal touches that were important to her. All Harry had to do was make it through the next few days, put on his uniform when told, his black suit when told--and find a way to live without her.

As he sat in his office, the sounds of his children and grandchildren drifting through his home, he wondered if he would ever be able to do that--live without her. He remembered when his own grandmother had passed, remembered telling Maddie then that, were she to go before him, he wouldn’t live much longer. He knew then that he wouldn’t survive her loss, that his heart would break and he would follow.

As he looked to the photo from their wedding day that still sat on his desk, he hoped it wouldn’t be long. He hoped he would be able to follow her soon because it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and the ache was just too big.

There was a soft knock on the door, an unmistakable voice and then his best friend was standing in front of him with red, puffy eyes and a black suit and a bottle of Scotch.

“If you want me to leave you alone with the bottle, I can…” He offered, completely serious.

It took effort for Harry to meet his eyes, knowing the sadness the two of them shared might be too much for the room. But something about Bishop being there made him feel just the tiny bit better. So he sat up a bit and waved his hand towards the chair across from him. “Stay?”

“Of course,” Bishop nodded and took a seat, not even asking before he opened the bottle and began to pour. Handing a full glass over to Harry, he lifted his own and, with a waver in his voice he asked. “Do you want to drink to her?”

As Bishop’s voice cracked, Harry’s heart did and tears rose to both of their eyes. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet,” he whispered, shaking his head as he wiped at his eyes.

“Fine,” Bishop nodded. “Then we’ll drink to me.” He swore he saw a hint of a smile as their glasses clinked and they both took a drink.

And there they sat in Harry’s office, drinking Scotch in the middle of the afternoon. It was a long while before Harry cleared his throat and spoke. “The children are all home.”

“I saw that,” Bishop nodded. “I brought David and Michael with me.”

“Oh?”

“Mmmm,” Bishop took another sip. “Buckie and his wife are on their way from Madrid.”

“And Ella?” Harry felt a new wave of upset hit him as he thought of her, of this woman, this friend who had known and loved Maddie longer than he had.

Bishop’s eyes darkened and Harry could see the sadness in them. “She’s at home. I asked her if she wanted to come. And she does, she just….”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not sure she can right now,” Bishop tried to explain, not wanting to go into detail the wails of despair that had come from his wife. He knew that the man before him was standing on a ledge and he had come to pull him back from it, not push him towards it.

Even without the extra details, Harry took a moment to process it, to imagine what Ella must be feeling. “You’ll tell her I love her?”

“I will.”

“And that she can…” Harry cleared his throat and took a breath. “She can come whenever she would like. Or not...if that’s better.”

“Of course,” Bishop nodded, emotion welling in his throat. Taking a long sip from his drink, Bishop leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and he met Harry’s eyes and even though it pained him to speak, he did. “I’m not sure I’m able to tell you just how sorry I am.”

Harry’s head nodded; slow and heavy. “I know.”

“Maddie was…” As Bishop’s eyes welled up, he shook his head, watching as his friend began to crumble at the mere mention of her name.

With a blink of an eye, the tears began to flow. In truth, Maddie had been a great deal of things over the course of her long life.

She had been a daughter and a cousin. She had been a farmer. She had been a rule breaker and a fierce competitor. She had been a doctor and a hero and a friend. She had been a lover and a fighter and a reason to live.

She had been a bride and a wife and a mother. She had been a beloved Duchess, an invaluable member of the Royal Family. She had been all over the world, all over the press.

She had been all over Harry’s heart since the day he had met her.

It was hard to sum up what her life had met to Harry, hard to sum up what she had meant to all of them. So instead of fighting for the words, the two men sipped Scotch and let their memories tell the tales.

It was Bishop who spoke next, his mind having drifted far back to the beginning of it all. “You remember just before you went to Bendal that summer? Just before you met Maddie?”

“Sure.” With a blink of his eyes, Harry’s mind drifted there too.

“We were at the pub and you were telling me how you were ready to give it up and settle?”

“And you were telling me that if you ever wanted to give up ‘the chase’ I should take you out and put you down.”

“Yes! Yes. That was the time.” Both of them chuckled at the irony of it all.

“I remember.” God, how he remembered.

“You went to Bendal thinking that everything about you was going to mean that you had to settle for something less than perfect.”

“It’s true.”

“Remember the text you sent me when you met her?” Bishop asked.

For the first time since he had woken, Harry smiled. He really smiled and Bishop swore he even saw a bit of light in his eyes. “I remember,” Harry whispered, taking a sip from his glass.

“You said…’I met her’,” Bishop returned his smile. “I want her smile to sigh my name.”

“Jesus!” Harry laughed, his hand clapping his knee as he remembered. “I really did bloody say that.”

“Yes you did.”

“Yes I did,” Harry shook his head and took a drink. “It did you know...eventually.”

“Sigh your name?” Bishop’s smile pulled higher.

“Yes.”

“Yes, I know.” Bishop sighed and sat back in his chair. “And later...do you remember the next text you sent?”

Harry’s smile faded only a little, the sadness beginning to return. “Of course I do.”

Bishop nodded, knowing he might be pushing it. “It said ‘I want my children to have that smile.’”

“I remember,” Harry’s voice cracked.

“And they do,” Bishop smiled, nodding his head towards the living room, towards the abundance of family that waited. “They have that smile. Every single one of them.”

“Yes they do,” Harry agreed, wiping at the fresh tears on his cheeks. “They have so much of her Bishop.”

“I know.”

“I see her everywhere I look. In Lilli’s mannerism and habits. In the way Ollie runs his calendar and the things he takes on. And Oscar...his love for travel and understanding and he has her hair and her smile and her eyes. Jesus Bishop, I could barely look at him without falling apart. And Malcolm! He has her spirit and her soul and even before they got here, all I can see around this house is her! She has these ridiculously soft blankets everywhere, these stacks of magazines that she never reads, that she’ll….that she’ll never read.” Harry’s rush began to fade, his heart hammering in his chest. “She hasn’t gone running for years yet those damn running shoes are by the door.”

“I know,” Bishop spoke softly.

“And this morning after they…” Harry blinked and swallowed. “After they took her, I was looking for socks or something and I found…” Choking up, Harry’s face turned away, his lips pressing together and his eyes bright with tears and when he spoke his voice was strained and raspy. “I found that damn minty Christmas candy she loved so much…”

“Aw, Harry…”

“I don’t know how to do it Bishop. How do I do it?” His eyes were wide as they looked back to him. “I already miss her. I already long for her. You know I haven’t slept a night without her in about thirty years and even before that it was few and far between. She’s always there; holding my hand, laughing as I make jokes and...and tonight I’m supposed to go up to our room and...I don’t know how to do it Bishop. I just...I don’t.”

Bishop watched for a long moment, letting his friend have his space for grief, his moment for sadness. And then, with a shrug and a smirk that was so uniquely him, he pulled Harry just a little but further away from the ledge. “I don’t know man. But if this is your way of asking me to stay the night with you…” A puff of laughter came from his teary best friend. “I suppose Ella wouldn’t mind sharing. Just this once.”

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It was late that night as Malcolm navigated through the house. The lights were off and his large, wild family was sleeping throughout. The house hadn’t been this full since Christmas. He felt a tug in his heart as he remembered, tears pricked to his eyes as he thought of the next holiday that would be without his mother. He walked softly down the stairs, through the living room towards the kitchen. He had just managed to get his son back to sleep and he was hungry and thirsty and he had great plans to dig into some of the mountains of food people had been sending over all day.

But when he stepped into the kitchen, the light over the sink illuminated the room and he found that he wasn’t alone. There on the counter sat his older sister.

“Hey,” she looked up to him with a tired smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I could. But my son had different plans,” he offered a half smirk as he moved in closer.

With a snort of a laugh, Lilli nodded her head. “Ah yes, the baby years.”

“Exactly,” Malcolm looked down at what she was holding in her hand. “I’m sorry. Are you eating Nutella with a spoon?”

“I am,” her eyes narrowed defiantly at his tone. “What of it?”

“Healthy choice,” he shook his head at her with a laugh.

“Since when are you the expert?” She arched an eyebrow as she took another spoonful.

“I don’t know, maybe since I graduated from Medical School?”

“Ha.” She laughed again. “You’re a Pediatrician Dr. Malcolm. And I remember when you used to walk around in Mum’s heels. Maybe you ease up on your big sister?”

“Maybe,” he snickered as he reached around her for a banana and moved to pull himself up onto the counter next to her. As he peeled the banana, his eyes shifted to look at her jar.

“Uh-uh,” Lilli shook her head, moving it out of his reach. “Don’t even think about sticking that in here.”

“Ha,” Malcolm shook his head with a grin that looked more like their father’s than their mother’s. “If I had a dollar for every time a woman’s told me that.”

“Gross!” Lilli smacked his arm, her head shaking with disgust.

“Okay…” A voice from the side drew their eyes to the entryway. “What on earth is going on in here?” It was Ollie with sleepy eyes and wild hair.

“We’re eating,” Lilli held up her jar. “Want to join us?”

Ollie looked at the two of them for a moment and then, with a shrug he decided. Moving into the room he looked at what was in their hands. “Do I have to eat fruit?”

“Nope,” Lilli laughed. “Grab a spoon.”

“You guys are going to regret this later,” Malcolm shook his head at them.

“I doubt it,” Lilli replied as Ollie grabbed a spoon and a spot next to her on the counter.

“I’m guessing you two can’t sleep either?” He glanced between the two of them, taking a spoonful from his sister’s jar.

“I can’t,” Lilli explained. “Malcolm was up with Harry.”

“Sure,” Ollie nodded. “How is he doing?”

“Great,” Malcolm smiled warmly as he thought of his son. “He’s just...perfect. You know?”

“I do,” Ollie smiled back at his brother.

“He’s started making all these little noises and smiling and….wow…” He sighed, looking up at the warm, mushy faces of his siblings. “I’m sad that he won’t get to know her. Not like the others, not like we did.”

And just like that, the sadness returned to the room, memories of their mother flooding their minds. Lilli took another spoonful as their youngest brother stepped into the room, wide awake as he looked a them.

“What on earth?” He had his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile on his face.

“We couldn’t sleep,” Lilli explained, waving him over to the counter. “You?”

“I’ve been travelling,” he sighed as he walked over to them. “My internal clock is all off so I was just...sitting in Mum’s office.”

“Alone?” Malcolm raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Oscar shrugged, pulling himself up onto the counter. “Well I didn’t know there was a party going on in here.”

“What were you doing in there?” Lilli asked, her voice soft, her eyes wide.

“Looking at her things,” Oscar confessed with sadness in his eyes. “Her books, her photos...the notes she had written on a notepad on her desk.” He shook his head. “There’s so much of her in there, I couldn’t help it.”

“Aw, Oscar,” Lilli reached across Ollie to hold her youngest brother’s hand and a sad silence spread through the siblings. Their smiles wavered, their eyes drifted. And they thought of her, of the enormous presence she had had here.

“Are you nervous?” Ollie looked to his big sister.

“About?” She squeezed Oscar’s hand and let go.

“About speaking at the funeral?” Ollie explained.

“I thought I would be,” she nodded, her eyes misting over. “I went over about seven versions of what I was going to say with Hugh on the flight here.”

“Lucky guy,” Malcolm joked, making another try to get his banana in the Nutella.

Slapping at his hand, Lilli gave him a glare. “But tonight when I was tucking in the children, it came to me. I know exactly what I’m going to say.”

“Oh?” Oscar lifted his eyebrows.

“Mmm,” she smiled, setting down her spoon and taking a breath. As soon as she had the attention of her small but closely knit audience, she began. “Once upon a time, there was a Prince with a broken smile…”

Recognition washed over her brothers at nearly the same moment, their faces warming and smiling despite the ever-present sadness. “You’re going to tell the story,” Ollie stated without question.

“And one day…” She smiled wider, nodding to her brother.

“One day,” Ollie picked up, rolling his eyes at himself. “He met a doctor.”

“What kind of doctor?” Lilli’s head tipped to the side.

“A beautiful doctor,” Malcolm offered, drawing out the word just as his father used to.

“Yes,” Lilli nodded. “She was beautiful and she was….”

“Magical,” Oscar spoke the word with reverence as he thought of his mother. “She was a beautiful, magical doctor.”

“She was.” Lilli’s eyes were full of tears, her brothers reflecting her emotions as she continued. “A beautiful, magical doctor who gave people their smiles back.”

“Yes she did,” Ollie nodded, his voice cracking.

“Yes she did,” Malcolm agreed, reaching out to pat his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes she did,” Oscar reached out to take his sister’s hand back into his.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” It was Harry who drew them from their moment. Their father, standing tall and amused in the doorway to the kitchen. With his arms folded over his chest and half a smirk on his face, he looked at the four of them on the counter.

“Daddy!” Lilli’s face brightened as she looked to her father and Harry had to shake off just how much she looked like her mother. “We were just…”

He knew what they were doing. He had heard the end of the conversation, he could see the looks on their faces. He knew exactly what was going on in here and it simultaneously broke and warmed his heart. “You were just testing the weight limits of that countertop?”

As a burst of laughter passed through the group and the children began to hop down from the counter, Malcolm pointed to his siblings with a smirk. “Told you you should try some fruit.”

As Ollie rolled his eyes and Lilli slapped at his finger, Oscar moved over to his father. “We were awake and hungry and…”

“Talking about your mother?” Harry asked, his eyes bright with tears and thoughts of her.

“Yes,” Oscar answered. “We were talking about Mum.”

“Good,” Harry smiled as he patted his son’s shoulder. “She would love that you’re all up in the middle of the night talking about her. Though...I think she might question your choice of snacks.”

“See,” Malcolm looked to his sister.

“No, no,” Harry shook his head, moving towards the fridge. “While spoonfuls of Nutella is high up there, I think she would have preferred….” He reached inside and found what he was looking for. “Pizza.”

As Ollie let out a gasp, his siblings chuckled and Lilli moved closer. “Is that Mum’s pizza?”

“It is,” Harry nodded, his mind stuck in a memory. “I’ll never forget the day she finally convinced Bernard to teach her his secret recipe.” He sat the pizza down on the counter. “She was so proud of herself.”

“I’m so glad she did,” Lilli moved to her father’s side.

“I am too,” Harry looked up at her with a smile. “Maybe we eat some pizza? Talk about Mum?”

“Yeah?” Lilli lifted her eyebrows.

“You want to talk about her?” Oscar asked gently.

“Of course,” Harry nodded, looking out at all of his children, all of their children. “If you’re all going to be up in the middle of the night remembering your mother...I want to be here for that.” He smiled and shrugged and blinked at the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll just probably cry while we do. Is that...is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Lilli rubbed her hand over her father’s back.

“Absolutely,” Malcolm nodded.

“I’ll get some plates,” Ollie moved towards the cupboard.

“I’m on drinks,” Oscar went to the fridge.

Lilli, with her mother’s smile and her father’s hair, moved to hug Harry. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she buried her face in his chest--just as she had when she was younger. As he pulled his arms around her, as he held her tightly to him, she turned her wide eyes and her bright smile up to him. “I love you daddy.”

With a kiss to the top of her head, he tightened his hold on her. “I love you too Lilli-bean. I love you too.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was very, very late--or very, very early when they all finally left the kitchen that night. There was laughter and tears and so many stories that they could have stayed up for weeks remembering her. They finished the pizza and finished their drinks and eventually they were all so exhausted that they were certain to pass out when they finally went back to bed.

There were hugs and kisses and heartfelt I love you’s and then the Sussexes dispersed, each of them heading back to their beds to get what sleep they could before the public part of their lives would step in. As Harry made his way back to their bedroom, he felt more peace than he had expected to on this first night without her. He was more grateful for his family than he had ever been.

And he decided--as hard as this was going to be, as heartbreaking as it all already was--he would do this.

He would do his duty. He would take the walk outside the gates with his children, thanking the crowd of mourners. He would don the uniform and march behind her coffin with his brother The King, with their children in line behind them. He would stand in the Abbey and listen to the music and the sentiments. He would cry while Lilli told The Story, while person after person told truth the remarkable woman that she was. He would watch as they take his wife, his beloved, to her final resting place. And when it was all over, he have somebody drive him to Foxgrove where he’d open a bottle of something strong and sit in their greenhouse and miss her.

He’d never stop missing her. He’d never stop loving her. He wasn’t even sure he could recall a time in his life when he didn’t. He’d be there for his children, for his grandchildren. He’d be there until it was time for him to not.

Looking down at the top of his dresser, he looked at the handful of items he always wore; his watch, his wedding ring, his bracelets.

And the emotions he had thought had waned, came flooding back as he reached for one in particular. It had been a gift from her on their first Christmas together. The inscription had rubbed thin, but he knew exactly what it said.

“Ubuntu. I am because we are.”

Never before had that sentiment rang more true for him than it did right then.

All that he was, all that he had, all they had built and created and become...it had all been because of that sentiment.

Together they were greater, together they were stronger.

He was, because of his time with her. So he would go on being because of her. He would be there for his children and his grandchildren. He would carry on with this life, with this legacy they had built--the greatest thing he had ever been a part of.

Because to do anything different would be dishonoring this journey he had taken with her. This wild, wonderful, beautiful, emotional, amazing journey that had become their life.

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