The days after were unbearable.
Lina moved through them in a fog—funeral arrangements, calls to make, children to comfort. Everyone said they were sorry. Everyone meant it. Nothing helped.
Hope stayed with her for weeks.
"I don't know how to do this," Lina admitted. "Be without him."
"Yes, you do. One day at a time. The way you taught me."
"I don't feel strong."
"You don't have to be strong. You just have to keep going."
Music helped.
Kai's compositions filled the house—his voice, his heart, still present. Lina played them constantly, finding comfort in the notes.
He wasn't gone. Not really. He lived in every melody.
"I hear you," she whispered to the empty room. "I'll always hear you."