The smell of him surrounds me—Earl Grey with a hint of spice. Warm breath tickles my ear as he leans in to whisper, “I love you.” His hard body presses against mine, effortlessly gliding me around the room. Etta James’ “At Last” floats through the air, wrapping us in its melody. My mind drifts, consumed by him, by us.

An hour has passed since the sun sank beyond the horizon, and our daughter sleeps soundly in her bed upstairs. I allow myself a moment for the world to fade away.

Reveling in the feeling of his hand pressed against my lower back, I sink deeper into him. A contented sigh gently leaves my lips, and a soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He pulls me tighter, and I rest my head against his shoulder.

His fingers brush a stray curl behind my ear, lips pressing softly to my forehead as he mumbles, “Forever.”

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my haze. I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes fluttering open as reality crashes down, heavy and suffocating.

The ballroom around me still stands, though silent and empty now. The chandelier overhead casts a flickering light across the oak floors, their once-polished surface now aged with time. Heavy, flowing curtains frame large floor-to-ceiling windows where rain gently taps against them, each droplet echoing the ache in my chest. Goosebumps prickle my arms, a reminder of the warmth that used to fill this room.

The wooden chair creaks beneath my shifting weight. I straighten my black dress, smoothing the creases with wrinkled hands. The room that had witnessed so many of our shared moments—so much laughter and love—now stands empty and silent.

A soft knock sounds again, and I turn to see my daughter in the doorway. Her figure is framed by the gray light of the gloomy day outside. Her eyes are wide, filled with concern, and her small voice cracks the silence. “Mom… It’s time.”

I glance at her, nodding slowly. “I’ll be there in a moment, love.”

I turn back toward the room. Every memory of the life we shared together floods me. The scent of his cologne, the sound of his booming laugh, the warmth of his touch—all leaving a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach.

The thud of my cane echoes in the empty room as I make my way to the door. The sound of the rain grows louder as we step past the threshold. My daughter speaks, but her words are lost to the ringing in my ears. The lock clicks into place as the rain picks up, and with my voice barely a whisper, I say, “And ever.”