Regina opened her eyes. The clock on the wall showed half past seven in the morning. Beside it hung a photograph of her husband, a black ribbon tucked into its corner. This was how every morning began for her. She’d glance at the clock and then at her husband’s smiling face. Or maybe the other way around. “Hello. Good morning, love!” he used to say. Except now he couldn’t kiss her like he used to.
***
After nine days, before leaving, their daughter removed the black ribbon from the portrait. That morning, Regina woke up, saw the photo frame without the ribbon, and for a moment, she believed her husband’s death had been a nightmare.
She walked into the kitchen, where her daughter was frying pancakes.
“Has Dad already left for work?” she asked.
Her daughter turned sharply, staring at her in disbelief.
“Mum, you’re scaring me. First, it’s Saturday. Second… Dad was buried yesterday. Don’t you remember?”
Regina sank into a chair, her legs giving way.
“You took the ribbon off the portrait. I thought…”
She burst into tears. Grief crashed over her anew, like a slab of stone pressing down, stealing her breath. Her daughter crouched in front of her, searching her eyes.
“Mum, I’m sorry. I’ll put it back right away. I didn’t think…”
When Regina stepped back into the bedroom, the ribbon was back in place. It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. The illusion of a dream had been kinder than the brutal truth. But she didn’t say that aloud.
“Maybe you should come stay with us for a while? Take your mind off things?” her daughter suggested.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I haven’t lost my mind. It’s just—when I saw the photo without the ribbon, I wanted so badly for it all to be a nightmare. I’ll stay here. ‘With Dad,’” she almost added, but stopped herself, not wanting to frighten her daughter further.
“I wasn’t implying anything, just offering.”
“You were,” Regina said.
“Don’t be angry, Mum.”
Her daughter left, promising to call every day. She’d married a university friend and moved to his family’s town after graduation. She was happy there.
***
Eight months passed, and the ache of loss hadn’t dulled. Regina had learned to live with it. She turned on the bathroom tap, blinking as another bulb flickered out. “Maybe it’s for the best,” she thought, washing the remnants of sleep from her face. “In dim light, my reflection isn’t so frightening.”
Outside, the trees swayed in a green haze of budding leaves, the first few already unfurling in the sunlit patches of the yard. The sky hung heavy with clouds.
Regina turned from the window, set her empty coffee cup in the sink, and dressed. Weekends often meant trips to the cemetery, especially once the snow had melted and the ground had dried. Today marked exactly eight months since her husband’s accident. Eight months that had blurred into one endless day of sorrow.
At the cemetery gates, women sold fresh and artificial flowers. Regina bought real ones. In eight months, her husband’s grave had been swallowed by newer burials. She cleared the wilted blooms, laid down the fresh ones, adjusted the ribbons on the wreaths, and touched his faded photo. The sun had bleached his face, making him vanish bit by bit. Next time, she’d bring a new picture, something protected under glass. Their daughter and son-in-law had promised to visit in summer—they’d arrange for a proper headstone then.
The vicar at the funeral had said, “To God, all are alive.” Those words had lodged in her mind like a stubborn hope. Maybe that’s why she kept coming here. It felt like the closest she could get to him—not beneath the soil, but somewhere high above. People said souls returned to heaven, didn’t they?
“Hello. You’ve got company now. Funny, I’m surrounded by people too, and yet I still feel alone without you. Our daughter calls every day. She’s doing well. Remember how you tried to talk her out of marrying so young? She and Robert are happy—they love each other.
Guess what? She thought she was pregnant, but the test was negative. She was relieved and disappointed all at once. Not ready for children yet. Said if it’s a boy, she’d name him after you. You wouldn’t mind, would you?
I miss you terribly. I keep dropping things—smashed so many plates. Broke your favourite mug too. Sorry. I meant to put it away. Why did I even pick it up? Spilled tea yesterday. At the shop, I keep leaving groceries behind—fresh cucumbers, just the other day. Our daughter says I’m feeding the whole neighbourhood. Work’s no better. Making mistakes left and right—might get sacked soon. The bathroom lights are all burned out. Did you buy spares? I couldn’t find any.”
A raindrop landed on her head.
“Starting to rain. Think I’ve told you everything. I’ll be back soon. Until then, my love.” She wiped her tears, touched the photo one last time, and walked away, stepping carefully around the new graves.
The bus took forever. By the time it came, she was drenched and shivering. The thought of returning to an empty flat made her chest tighten.
A removal van blocked 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 she couldn’t get through. The men just grunted, heaving more boxes inside.
“Hello. Do you know who’s moving in?” Regina asked her.
“Afternoon, Regina. No idea which flat—just that it’s the sixth floor. The Carvers sold up months ago, bought a house. You’re on seven, right? So they’ll be right below you. Anyway, must dash—grandson’s waiting…” They squeezed past the clutter.
Upstairs, silence swallowed Regina whole. She kicked off her shoes, stepped into the kitchen—and her foot sank into a puddle.
“Perfect. Just what I needed!”
Under the sink, water trickled from the shut-off valve. She tried tightening it, but the leak worsened. Saturday. Calling the emergency plumber meant cutting water to the whole building for days. She grabbed a bucket, mopped the floor, then headed downstairs. The door was ajar.
“Hello? I think I’m flooding you!” she called inside.
A man in his forties peered out. Regina startled.
“Hi. I’m your upstairs neighbour. My pipes are leaking—has it reached you?”
“Let’s check. Come in.”
The kitchen ceiling had a spreading damp patch.
“I’ll pay for repairs,” Regina said guiltily.
“Don’t worry—I’m redoing the place anyway. Let’s see what we can fix upstairs. Called the plumber?”
“He won’t come till Monday. Means shutting off the whole block’s water.”
“Right. Let me unload my things, find my toolbox, then I’ll take a look.”
He arrived two hours later. Regina had been babysitting the bucket. For ten minutes, he worked under the sink while she hovered, remembering how her husband hated interruptions.
“Should hold till Monday. Still, get the plumber in.” He straightened with a wince. “Mind if I check your bathroom?”
The dead bulbs didn’t escape him.
“I’ll pick up new ones tomorrow. Swap them for you, yeah?”
“You don’t have to—I’ll pay.”
He studied her. “Tea’s payment enough.”
His smile was kind. Her cheeks warmed.
True to his word, he replaced the bulbs the next day. The room suddenly felt brighter, lighter. He even fixed a loose socket. Over tea and biscuits, he asked, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“Unusual name, yours. What did your family call you as a kid?”
“Needle. Was skin and bones. ‘Sharp as a needle,’ Gran said. How do you know me?”
“I’m a doctor. Worked the night your husband was brought in after the crash. Doctors remember patients—especially the ones we can’t save. You sat in that corridor, silent. Just… tears running down. His injuries… there was no chance. Nothing we could do.”
Regina nodded, staring at the table.
“Now I’ve made you cry again. Every time you see me, you’ll remember.”
“You said it, and suddenly I was back there. Still can’t get used to it.”
“I’ll go.” At the door, he paused. “I’ll be renovating. Noise, drilling.”
“It’s fine. I understand.”
By day, she worked; by evening, the flat below stayed quiet. She hardly saw him. When she did hear noise, it was almost welcome—a distraction from grief.
Strange, the last person to see her husband alive now lived beneath her. She couldn’t decide how to feel. Did itOne evening, as they sat in his half-furnished flat, the first real laughter in months bubbling between them, Regina realized that life—messy, unpredictable, and unbearably bright—had found its way back to her after all.
