Corpse Bride
Sundays were dedicated to him.
As always, he would find her at the same spot, every Sunday, right next to the enchanted tree that grew. She would be up by sunrise, eat a small breakfast, and be out the door by 7. She would walk because she wanted to live the moment as slowly as possible. She would go to the flower shop and then head to the place at 8:30. She would stay there all day, talking to him like he was sitting right in front of her.
Her life was simple.
On Monday, she had a straight schedule she followed like a robot. Wake up at 7, breakfast at 8, work at 9. She'll be back by 5, dinner at 7, and be in bed by 10. Without her schedule she would be nothing. She would be lost.
On Tuesdays he sent her flowers. Sunflowers were her favorite. Though she never mentioned the flowers to him, he saw them in a vase on her dining table when he visits.
On Wednesdays the memories would hit her. She would stay in bed all day. Work was out of the question. They understood. Small clear vials were scattered around her bedroom. Memories of them together. Memories that destroyed her.
On Thursdays he visited her. She wouldn't say much but he noticed she always had a pot of tea and biscuits ready for him. He learned she liked when he told her stories of his travels and she listened interestingly at all his business trips to various places such as Italy, Australia, Guatemala, etc.
It was his last wish for his best friend to take care and love her like he did. Because he knew that his best friend was in love with his wife. That he was in love with her from the moment he called her a mudblood and her eyebrows shot up and eyes grew big, and she retorted because that's who she was. She was a fighter; she wouldn't let anyone bring her down.
They both fell in love with her for that reason.
Though he had her first, one mistake made him lose her forever. He thought of all kinds of things to get her back. When he died, everything changed. She changed. In the end, he realized it was really him who changed.
The funeral was small and private. Only a handful of people came to say their goodbyes. She didn't say a word. She didn't even shed a tear. She stood there motionless, her eyes unfocused. That night he stayed with her as she drenched his shirt in tears. He wiped every tear and kept her close. She fell asleep with tears falling from her eyes. It's been six years.
On Friday, he told her he still loved her despite everything that happened between them. As usual, she listened but didn't say anything. He confessed everything to her and in the end, told her to forgive him for falling in love with her. After that day, he stopped visiting her. It was the right thing to do. It was wrong to love your dead best friend's wife and he needed to forget her and move on with his life.
Months passed before he saw her again. One day there she was, on his door step with a small bag.
He let her come in and stood in front of her. Sitting didn't seem appropriate. She glanced around, taking in his condo and finally her eyes rested on him. And finally she spoke.
"He told me. Years ago. He told me to give you a chance."
He nodded, understanding. He would have told her everything.
"I came today… I just wanted to make sure… well… is it true?" She asked in a small voice. He wanted to take her in his arms but he knew it wasn't the right time. She looked away from him.
"Yes."
She looked up.
"Every single word of it."
She smiled. The first genuine smile he saw on her in six years. He didn't have to do anything; she came to him and put her arms around him. He brought her in even closer, taking her familiar scent in.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry it took me so long to come back to you." She said. He sighed, closing his eyes. He was beyond happy she was his again.
"Oh Hermione… didn't you know? I would have waited forever."