Stronger Than Death
Regina opened her eyes. The clock on the wall showed half past seven in the morning. Beside it hung a photograph of her husband with a black mourning ribbon draped over the corner. This was how every morning began—she looked at the clock, then at his smiling face, or the other way around. “Good morning, love,” he used to say. But now, he couldn’t kiss her like he once did.
***
Nine days after the funeral, before leaving, her daughter removed the mourning ribbon from the portrait. When Regina woke the next morning and saw the photograph without it, she convinced herself her husband’s death had only been a nightmare.
She walked into the kitchen, where her daughter was making pancakes.
“Has Dad already left for work?” she asked.
Her daughter turned sharply, eyes wide with alarm.
“Mum, you’re scaring me. First, it’s Saturday. Second… we buried Dad yesterday. Don’t you remember?”
Regina sank into a chair.
“You took the ribbon off the portrait. I thought—”
She burst into tears. The grief crashed over her again like a crushing weight, stealing her breath. Her daughter knelt before her, searching her face.
“I’m so sorry, Mum. I’ll put it back—I didn’t think—”
When Regina returned to the room, the ribbon was back in place. But the sight didn’t ease the pain—it only made it worse. The illusion had been kinder. Still, she didn’t say it aloud.
“Why don’t you come stay with us for a while?” her daughter suggested. “A change might help.”
“I’m fine, really. I haven’t lost my mind. It’s just… seeing the photo without the ribbon made me wish it was all a nightmare. I’ll stay here. With Dad.” She nearly added that last part but stopped herself—no need to worry her daughter further.
“I wasn’t implying anything. Just offering.”
“You were,” Regina said softly.
“Don’t be cross, Mum.”
Her daughter left that afternoon, promising to call every day. She’d married a university sweetheart and moved to his hometown after graduation. She was happy there.
***
Eight months passed, but the ache of loss hadn’t faded. Regina had simply learned to live with it.
She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the tap. Overhead, another bulb flickered out. “Better this way,” Regina thought, washing the last traces of sleep from her face. “Dim light hides the worst of the shadows in the mirror.”
Outside, the trees and bushes were veiled in a greenish haze, buds swelling on the branches. A few early leaves had unfurled where sunlight touched the garden. The sky was thick with clouds.
Regina turned away from the window, placed her empty coffee cup in the sink, and dressed for the day. Weekends often took her to the cemetery, especially now that the snow had melted and the ground was dry. Today marked exactly eight months since her husband’s death. To Regina, they felt like one unbroken stretch of sorrow.
At the cemetery gates, women sold fresh and artificial flowers. Regina chose fresh ones. Over the months, her husband’s grave had been swallowed by newer ones. She cleared the withered blooms, laid down fresh ones, adjusted the ribbons on the wreaths, and traced her fingers over his fading photograph. The sun had bleached his features. Next time, she’d bring a new picture in a proper frame. Her daughter and son-in-law had promised to visit in summer—they’d erect a proper headstone then.
The priest had said, “With God, all are alive.” The words had lodged in her heart like a stubborn hope. Maybe that was why she kept returning—somewhere between the earth and the sky, she felt him closest.
“Hello. You’ve got new company,” she murmured. “I’m surrounded by people too, but it doesn’t stop me missing you. Our daughter calls daily. She’s happy—remember how you tried to talk her out of marrying Alex? They’re in love.”
She wiped her cheeks. “She thought she was pregnant last week, but the test was negative. Relieved and disappointed at once. Not ready for children yet. But if it’s a boy, she’ll name him after you. Is that alright?”
A few raindrops fell. “Time to go. I’ll be back soon.” She touched the photograph one last time and walked away, weaving between the newer graves.
The bus took forever. By the time it arrived, she was soaked and shivering. The thought of her empty flat made her shoulders sag.
A removal van was parked right by the building’s entrance, its doors wide open. Movers hauled boxes, furniture, and sacks toward the lift. A neighbour stood in the narrow path, complaining loudly while the men worked in silent exhaustion.
“Afternoon,” Regina said. “Do you know who’s moving in?”
“Afternoon, Regina. Sixth floor. The Browns sold their place months ago—bought a house. You’re on seven, aren’t you? So they’ll be right below you. Anyway, must dash—granddaughter’s home alone.”
Regina took the lift up, unlocked her door, and stepped into the stifling silence. She hung her coat, walked into the kitchen—and her foot landed in a puddle.
“Perfect.”
Under the sink, a thin stream of water trickled from the pipe. She tried tightening the valve but only made it worse. Saturday. If she called the plumber, he’d shut off the water for the entire building until Monday. She grabbed a bucket, mopped the floor, and hurried downstairs.
The door was ajar.
“Hello? I’m flooding your flat!” she called inside.
A man in his forties appeared. Regina startled.
“Sorry—I’m your upstairs neighbour. There’s a leak—can you check if it’s reached you?”
He glanced at the spreading damp patch on his ceiling.
“No need to pay for repairs,” he said. “I was planning to redecorate anyway. Let’s take a look upstairs. Called a plumber?”
“He won’t come before Monday.”
“Right. Let me unload my things, find my tools, and I’ll be up.”
Two hours later, he knocked. Regina had been emptying the bucket nonstop. He worked under the sink for ten minutes while she hovered—her husband had hated interruptions.
“That should hold till Monday,” he said, straightening with a wince. “But get a plumber. Mind if I check your bathroom?”
She didn’t object.
“Ah,” he said, spotting the dead bulbs. “I’ll replace these tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to—”
He cut her off with a smile. “Tea will be payment enough.”
She flushed.
True to his word, he returned the next day with new bulbs. The room brightened instantly. He even fixed a wobbly socket. Over tea and biscuits, he studied her.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“That name—uncommon. What did your mother call you as a child?”
“Pin. I was skinny. ‘Sharp as a pin,’ my nan used to say. But how do you know me?”
“I’m a doctor. I was at the hospital when they brought your husband in after the crash. We remember the ones we couldn’t save. You sat in the corridor—no screaming, just silent tears. His injuries… there was nothing we could do.”
Regina stared at the table, nodding.
“And now I’ve made you cry again. Every time you see me, you’ll remember.”
“You brought me right back there. I still can’t get used to it.”
“I should go.” At the door, he paused. “I’ll be renovating—noise, drilling.”
“It’s fine,” she said.
She worked days; by evening, he was quiet. The sounds of his life below were a distraction from her grief.
Strange—the last person who’d seen her husband alive now lived beneath her. She didn’t know how to feel. Did it matter? Or was he just another reminder?
They crossed paths in the hallway, the garden. He’d greet her, eyes lingering. By May, she swapped her dark clothes for a spring dress, pinned up her hair. Colleagues noticed.
“Good for you,” they said. “You can’t bury yourself alive.”
“I dress for myself,” she snapped. “Black in this heat is unbearable.”
But in the mirror, she saw the lie.
One evening, he caught her on the stairs. “Fancy the cinema?”
Go out with another man? His smile softened. “I can’t go alone. Help me out.”
“What’s showing?”
“Does it matter?”
It didn’t. She went.
Afterward, walking home, he talked. Married young, for love. Then his wife changed—demanded more money, picked fights, refused children.
“I was always at the hospital. One day, she left. After the divorce, she insisted we sell the flat—a two-bed in town, from my parents. I sold my half, added savings, bought this place. She found out, stormed into work, screamed IThat autumn, as the leaves turned gold and the wind carried whispers of change, Regina stood at her husband’s grave one last time, her fingers entwined with the doctor’s, and knew that even in the face of loss, life had a way of stitching the broken pieces back together.
