All at Once
In the end, it hits her, all at once.
He's gone—never coming back.
Their daughter will never know her father, and Marty's memories will fade until they are whispers of sensation—a trace of his cologne in the air, the weight of a proud hand on his shoulder, the faint recollection of his father's smile as he studies himself in the bathroom mirror.
He's gone—never coming back, his life's blood spilled senselessly upon a highway she will never travel again, and it all seems so pointless now.
At the front of the church, Fancy holds court, weeping and wringing her hands and welcoming the well-wishers as they file in to pay their respects. Luis's ring gleams on her finger, and her blond hair rests prettily on her shoulders. Her reddened eyes flit back and forth across the crowd, but they refuse to fall upon the lonely figure at the back of the church.
He's gone—never coming back, and the pity filled whispers only serve to strengthen Sheridan's shrewd convictions.
Harmony holds nothing for her now, the only tie that bound her here severed by the careless hands of a drunk driver. It's not her home. It's Luis's home. Luis was her home. Her son, the daughter she guards as a secret in her womb, will not grow up here. In the morning, Harmony will be well on her way to being a distant, bittersweet memory.
He's gone—never coming back, and behind the blank, tearless mask she presents to the ones she used to call friends and family, the heart they claim she no longer has is breaking—into millions of tiny little pieces.
In the end, it hits her all at once. This isn't just Luis's goodbye.
He's gone—never coming back; tomorrow, neither is she.