Who are you?

You are not her.

You had always been serious- I joke that you get that from me, but even my stoicism can crack. I've always had a weakness: Her, you. Where did you go?

You never liked her, but maybe you were right. Maybe she was a hag. I hadn't thought that when she died she could take you with her. You could always come back. No matter what. Where are you?

Now, when I see you, you greet me solemnly. Your big eyes, her eyes, but not quite, look up at me hollowly. When I reference your favorite story, you numbly tell me that the first one liked that story. I ask you to bring her forth then, so that she can appreciate it. You look down and tell me it isn't possible. I feel a pang of guilt. I made shame your first emotion. I know you are right. Of course you can't. You only hold her memories. You are not her.

I find myself repeating the same mistake again and again. I was never meant to have a family. My wife is gone and my Rei is just a twinkle in the grim eyes of her replacement.

A clean slate in body and mind. However, in whatever remains, you must still be there. My Rei.

You are not her.

How could you be?

But I had hoped.