**A Heart-to-Heart**
The New Year was creeping up again, and the whole city was in a frenzy. Shopping centres buzzed with warmth and light, packed with last-minute shoppers darting about like frantic elves. The same old Christmas tune blared from every speaker—honestly, if she heard *Jingle Bells* one more time, Emily might scream.
But Emily wasn’t feeling festive. This year had been rough for her and her mum, Margaret. They’d been learning to navigate life without her dad. Emily wasn’t a kid anymore—she was a married woman with a ten-year-old son, Oliver.
A year ago, just before New Year’s, her father had passed away. The grief had hit Emily like a truck, but it took her a while to realise her mum had it even worse.
William Hart had been the kind of man who made everyone feel warm inside. A university economics professor, he treated his students like family. “They’re all my kids,” he’d say with a chuckle. “Never had a cross word with any of ’em. Questions? Plenty. But we worked ’em out together.”
Emily would nod. “Everyone respects you, Dad.”
William adored old films, had a laugh that could shake the room, and took Emily on long walks when she was little. Weekends meant family trips to the cinema or the park, and holidays were always the three of them. Watching how tenderly her father loved her mother, Emily had grown up hoping to find someone just like him—and thankfully, she had. Her husband, James, was cut from the same cloth. They lived in a flat her parents had helped them buy, and life had been… good.
Until three years ago, when William was diagnosed with cancer. Margaret and Emily were shattered, but he’d just grin. “Don’t you worry, my girls. You won’t get rid of me that easily.” His eyes, though—they told a different story.
A year ago, he was gone.
**”I Can’t Go On Without Him”**
The sound of frozen earth thudding onto the coffin lid still haunted Emily. Her mother’s sobs, the clinking of glasses at the wake—it was all etched into her memory.
Now, all she felt was fear for her mum. When they’d returned to the silent flat after the funeral, Margaret had walked straight to William’s armchair—his spot—and collapsed into it, staring blankly ahead. Emily, just as crushed, hadn’t known what to say.
Then, quietly, her mother whispered, “I can’t.”
Emily crouched in front of her, clasping her icy hands. “Can’t what, Mum?”
Margaret looked at her like the question made no sense. “Live without him. I can’t.”
That was the moment Emily truly understood—no matter how hard this was for her, her mother was drowning.
It had been a year since then, and Emily was slowly adjusting to the silence where her father’s voice used to be. She’d catch herself expecting to see his silver-haired head in his favourite chair, facing the telly. Now, all that remained was the ache. And the fear—constant, gnawing fear—for her mother.
“God, please let her be okay,” she’d think in the dead of night, or mid-conversation, or while stirring tea. She’d call Margaret obsessively—not at 3 a.m., thankfully, but mornings, afternoons, evenings.
“Emily, love, you’re tearing yourself apart,” James would say, rubbing her shoulders. “Look at you—you’ve got shadows under your eyes, you jump at everything. Your mum’s stronger than you think. It’ll get easier.”
“You’re probably right,” she’d sigh. “But Mum’s just… different now. So quiet. What’s she thinking about all the time? Maybe we should invite her over.”
She’d dial Margaret, who’d answer in a frail voice.
“Yes, love?”
“Mum, come round. It’s Saturday—we’ll take Oliver to the park, yeah? Don’t sit there alone.”
“No, darling. Don’t fancy going out. Besides, I’m not alone. Your dad’s always in my thoughts.”
*Exactly my point,* Emily wanted to say.
But Margaret always refused.
James would just shrug. “Patience, Em. It needs time.”
**The Panic**
Today marked a year since William’s death. New Year’s Eve was tomorrow. Life marched on.
Emily rang her mother first thing—no answer. She tried again. And again. The line kept ringing. That wasn’t like her. Margaret *always* picked up.
Keys in hand, Emily bolted out the door, heart hammering like a trapped bird. “Please, God, let her be okay,” she whispered, fumbling with the lock.
**The Note**
The flat was too quiet. Spotless. On the kitchen table, a note:
*My darling girl, you know how much I love you. I never meant to hurt you. Whatever happens, remember that.*
Emily’s legs gave way. The words blurred as she reread them, hands shaking.
*I always knew the thing you fear most is the thing that happens.*
Then she spotted it—Margaret’s teacup, still warm.
*She’s only just left. Maybe there’s still time.*
Keys clutched in a white-knuckled grip, she flew back down the stairs.
*Where would she go? The shops? But the note…*
Then it hit her.
*The cemetery.*
Snow dusted the empty graves as Emily sprinted toward her father’s plot. And there—a hunched figure in a winter coat. Margaret.
“MUM!”
She ran, tears freezing on her cheeks, and crashed into her mother’s arms.
“Mum, *what* were you thinking? What about *me*?”
**A Moment of Clarity**
Margaret’s hands trembled as she cupped Emily’s face.
“I’m so sorry, my love. I just… I miss him so much. But I couldn’t do it. I thought of you.”
“Promise me. *Promise* you won’t ever—”
“I promise,” Margaret whispered, her voice steadier now. “It was a madness. We’ll go on. Your dad would want that.”
Emily nodded, relief flooding her.
“Now, love,” Margaret said softly, “let me talk to him alone. Wait for me by the gates.”
Emily trudged to a bench, brushing off snow, shivering in the cold. The quiet was eerie—just the creak of the iron gates and the soft *hush* of falling snow.
She watched as Margaret stood by the grave, whispering. *Let her say everything she needs to. Let her leave the weight here.*
Eventually, Margaret walked back, head low. But when she reached Emily, she managed a small smile.
“It’s alright, love. We’ll be alright.”
They drove home in silence. Ahead of them—New Year’s. A new beginning.
