Marcus Walsh woke before the alarm rang.

That had been happening for almost two years now. His body learned it the way people learn to flinch. Before the sound could drag him out of sleep, he surfaced on his own, eyes opening to darkness, breath shallow, heart already racing for reasons he couldn’t always name.

The bedroom was quiet. Not peaceful. Quiet in the way abandoned houses are quiet, holding echoes long after voices have left.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the heater. December had settled into Chicago with its usual stubbornness, the cold pressing against the walls, sneaking through window seams. Marcus kept the heat low. He always did. Amanda used to complain about it, pulling blankets higher and threatening to turn the thermostat up when he wasn’t looking.

The thought of that made his throat tighten.

He turned his head slightly. The other side of the bed was untouched, perfectly smoothed as it had been every morning since the funeral. He had changed the sheets, washed the blankets, but he had never slept there. Something about it felt like crossing a line he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

The alarm buzzed at 5:30 a.m.

Marcus reached out and shut it off immediately.

“Okay,” he murmured to no one. “Up.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The cold floor shocked him fully awake. He welcomed it. Pain and cold were simple sensations. They didn’t ask questions.

Down the hall, Iris’s bedroom door was closed. A faint nightlight glowed beneath it. Marcus paused there longer than necessary, his hand hovering near the doorframe, listening for her breathing.

Still asleep.

Good.

He moved to the kitchen, started the coffee maker, and leaned against the counter while it gurgled to life. Outside, the sky was still dark, the streetlights casting pale halos onto the frozen pavement. Somewhere down the block, a neighbor’s Christmas lights blinked steadily, red and green reflected faintly on the snow.

Marcus looked away.

By the time Iris shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, he had already packed her lunch and set her cereal on the table.

“Morning, bug,” he said softly.

“Morning, Daddy.”

Her voice was quiet. It always was in the mornings. She sat down, pulled her knees up onto the chair, and ate without complaint.

Marcus watched her over the rim of his coffee mug. Iris had Amanda’s eyes. That wasn’t poetic sentiment. It was fact. Same shape. Same depth. Sometimes when Iris looked at him a certain way, it felt like being punched in the chest.

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Any tests or anything today?”

“No.”

She hesitated, spoon hovering above the bowl. “We’re doing Christmas stuff at school.”

Marcus felt the familiar tightening in his chest.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Decorations. Ornaments. Mrs. Klein says we’re making gifts for our parents.”

“For us,” Marcus corrected gently.

Iris nodded but didn’t smile.

They finished breakfast in silence. Marcus helped her into her coat, tied her scarf, and walked her out to the truck.

As he drove her to school, Iris stared out the window, counting houses decorated with lights. She didn’t comment on them. She used to. Two years ago, she used to narrate everything.

When he pulled up to the curb, she paused before opening the door.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Never mind.”

Marcus watched her walk into the school building, her small backpack bouncing lightly against her back. He stayed parked for a moment longer than necessary before pulling away.

The job site smelled like sawdust and old plaster.

Marcus loved that smell. It meant something was being taken apart so something better could be built. He stepped out of his truck, tool belt slung over his shoulder, and nodded at his crew.

“Morning, boss,” Danny called from inside the house.

“Morning.”

The kitchen they were tearing out hadn’t been updated since the mid-eighties. Floral wallpaper peeled at the edges. Cabinets sagged. Appliances hummed with tired defiance.

Marcus got to work immediately. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to. His crew knew him well enough by now to understand that silence was part of the job.

Swing the hammer. Pry the cabinet. Pull the nails.

Each physical motion grounded him in the present. His mind stayed where his hands were. That was the point.

Around noon, Marcus sat in his truck, unwrapping a sandwich he barely tasted. His phone buzzed against the dashboard.

Rachel.

He stared at it for a second before answering.

“Hey,” he said.

“Marcus,” Rachel replied, her voice too bright. “How are you?”

“Same as always.”

She hesitated. “Listen… do you remember Amanda talking about starting a scholarship fund?”

Marcus closed his eyes.

Of course he remembered. Amanda talked about it during one of the last clear days she had, her voice soft but determined. She wanted something good to come from the mess. Something that would outlive her.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Well, I think I found someone who can help,” Rachel continued. “A donor. She wants to meet you.”

Marcus rubbed his face with his free hand.

“Rachel, it’s almost Christmas.”

“I know.”

“Iris has stuff. I’ve got deadlines.”

“It’s just coffee,” Rachel said gently. “One hour.”

Marcus didn’t respond.

“Amanda would want this,” Rachel added softly.

There it was. The name. The guilt. The unspoken accusation that he was failing her by standing still.

“Fine,” Marcus said finally. “When?”

Natalie Chen sat in her car in the hospice parking lot, forehead resting against the steering wheel.

Twelve hours. Twelve patients. Twelve families holding onto hope long after it had slipped away.

She had chosen this work because it mattered. Because it was honest. But some days, it hollowed her out.

Her phone rang.

Rachel.

“Hey,” Natalie answered.

“Nat, remember how we said we should get coffee?”

Natalie frowned. “Sure.”

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Rachel said carefully. “Amanda Walsh’s husband.”

Natalie straightened immediately.

Amanda Walsh.

The name was burned into her memory. The quiet strength. The way Amanda talked about her husband and daughter with more concern than she ever talked about herself. And the envelope.

“Rachel,” Natalie said slowly, “I was her nurse.”

“I know,” Rachel replied. “That’s why I thought you could help him.”

Natalie closed her eyes. She had carried Amanda’s message for two years. She had waited. She had honored the promise.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Just coffee.”

Marcus arrived at Lakeside Cafe at 6:55 p.m.

He always arrived early. It was a habit born of job sites and schedules. He scanned the room and spotted a woman in scrubs sitting alone in a corner booth.

She looked tired. Nervous.

“Must be her,” he thought.

“Hi,” he said, extending his hand. “Marcus Walsh.”

Natalie looked up, recognition hitting her like a physical blow.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Please, sit.”

They exchanged small talk that went nowhere. Marcus mentioned the scholarship fund.

Natalie blinked. “Scholarship fund?”

“You didn’t know?” Marcus asked.

“I was Amanda’s hospice nurse.”

The words slammed into him.

Marcus stood so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“This is a setup,” he snapped. “I’m not doing this.”

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Then Natalie spoke.

“Amanda wanted me to find you.”

Marcus froze.

The cafe seemed to hold its breath.

Marcus turned slowly.

Natalie’s hands shook as she pulled the envelope from her purse.

“She gave me this the night before she passed,” Natalie said. “Made me promise not to deliver it until two years later. Christmas week.”

Marcus sat back down heavily.

Natalie didn’t rush. She spoke carefully, delivering Amanda’s message word by word. About love. About grief. About choosing to live.

When she showed him the video, Marcus broke completely.

Amanda’s voice filled the space.

“I didn’t marry you so you could stop living when I did.”

Marcus sobbed openly, his grief spilling out in front of strangers who suddenly felt like witnesses to something sacred.

Three days later, the envelope sat unopened on Marcus’s nightstand.

Iris noticed it.

“What’s that?”

“A letter from Mommy.”

“Are you going to read it?”

“When I’m ready.”

She paused, then said quietly, “You’re here, Daddy. But you’re not really here.”

That night, Marcus called Natalie.

“I need help,” he said.

Natalie arrived twenty minutes later.

They went to the storage unit together. Boxes labeled in Amanda’s handwriting filled the space.

Marcus froze.

Natalie touched his arm gently. “One box at a time.”

They decorated slowly. Iris directed everything with infectious excitement.

For the first time in two years, the house felt alive.

Marcus finally opened the letter.

Amanda’s words were clear.

Love multiplies.

Not long after, Marcus and Natalie began again. Slowly. Carefully.

Friendship first.

Then something more.

Six months later, Marcus realized he was happy.

One year later, he proposed at Lakeside Cafe.

Natalie said yes.

The following Christmas, the house glowed.

Amanda’s photo stood proudly on the mantle.

Grief remained, but it no longer ruled.

Love had grown.

And life, finally, moved forward.

THE END