The police officer left, taking my dreams and love away. I walked to the kitchen calmly and placed the pie I had baked in the microwave. I made my way slowly to the phone on the wall, and although I hesitated as my eyes riveted on the huge butcher knife in the utensils holder near the sink, I kept walking until I reached the phone.

My mother cried as she heard my news. She asked me if I was okay. I hung up on her.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that it was time to pick up my kids from school. I grabbed my coat off the hook, which proved to be irrelevant because even as I put it on, I thought how the cold would always linger in me.

It wasn't until I noticed my car in the driveway did I tremble. I shut my eyes, willing my hands to stop shivering, that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the blue eyed dark haired boy I had fallen in love with a million times in my life span. Glancing at the car again, I wondered if I would ever be able to get into one again. I slowly backed up a few steps and after a moment, I turned around and ran towards my house.

I called a friend and she agreed to pick up my children from school in return, she said laughing, for my recipe of blueberry pies. She didn't know, I thought as I listened to her teasing plea for the secret ingredient. She didn't know that my husband was dead. I told her I had to go and once more I said thanks. I didn't realize that the phone was still pressed against my ear till I heard the dial tone, its still lifeless rhythm sounding in my ear and vibrating in the still caverns of my mind that refused to think or feel at that moment. Thinking or feeling seemed impossible because it would mean understanding.

And I didn't understand. I didn't understand why he was gone. I didn't understand that I would never awake to his smile in the morning or never sleep to his snores at night. I didn't understand why he left me, what I did to make him leave me in this life, now empty and meaningless, the purpose of it driven out as the words "he didn't survive" were repeated in my mind until it become a chant; a soundtrack to the life I was now to live.

The kids came hometheir faces lit with smiles as they told me how their day was spent. Their faces fell as I told them as gently as I could that Daddy wasn't coming home. They looked at me confused then Amy wrapped her arms around me and laughed saying "Of course he is, Mommy. He's just late".

The tears that hadn't come yet, that I would not allow to come until I could accept the truth seemed on the brink of flowing but I took a deep breath to steady myself.

"No, honey" I said, softly, running my hand through her long hair. "He's not coming".

"I don't know what you mean" she said, biting her lip. "Is he coming tomorrow?"

"Daddy's never coming back" I said, the words stinging me as I uttered them. The words hurt nearly as much as the slap I felt on my face. I touched my cheek, shocked as I stared at Brooke, who was withdrawing her hand from my face She looked at me angrily, the tears streaming down her face and I realized that I underestimated her when I thought that they wouldn't understand death. But staring at Brooke, her eyes glaring at me and her bottom lip trembling, I realized that she did understand. She just didn't want to.

"You shouldn't say stuff like that" she said, still angry. She raised her hand to slap my face again but I blocked her next blow. "You shouldn't say stuff like that" she said again, her face losing the sharp edge and her sobs coming out in short bursts of breaths. She started sobbing, her tiny fists punching every part of my body that she could reach. "Don't...say..." she sobbed as each punch punctuated a new word. "He's...dead". With the last word she sank into my arms sobbing as if her heart would break.

My mother came that night, with two suitcases under her arm and a bag of treats for the kids. She cooked our favorite dishes for dinner, she tucked the girls in and read them a bedtime story, and she telephoned family and friends, making plans for the funeral and cleaned the house from top to bottom. In short, she was an angel.

Angels, I thought as I sat on my back porch, staring up at the dark sky. The beautiful beings in white, flying through the starry skies on pearly wings that lit the hopes of the ones who had lost them. The angels whom glided, sinless and without expectations, trying to save the humans who faulted day in and day out, from losing themselves.

Yet I see no wrong in losingyourself. I wish I could.

Angels, they don't exist. They are inventions of Mankind used to raise the hopes of people or to strike belief in their minds that someone cared about you. That someone wanted you to be happy. But you are the only one that wants you to be happy. Why should other people care? I thought as I hugged my knees to my chest and tried to warm myself. I wrapped Nathan's jacket around me tighter. It smelled of him. I could close my eyes and picture him standing in front of me, wearing his cologne, and adjusting his tie.

The smell was so real. But in a while, it would fade. It would all fade. The memories, my smile, my belief in true love prevailing. I couldn't bear to forget him. It was worse than losing him. I stared at the dark jacket that was wrapped around my body and remembered the many times he covered me with it. I remembered the many times we shared over the years and I remembered how everyday with him was a new day to fall hopelessly in love with him all over again. I remembered his smile but most of all, I remembered our love.

I think I'm wrong about angels. Maybe they are returned souls. Maybe they are the ones we've lost over the years, coming home to us. Maybe they have come to keep an eye on us because dead or alive, invisible to the eye or clear in our hearts, they still care.

'Nathan" I whispered into the silence of the night. "Are you my angel?"

No answer. Was I expecting one? I do not know. But staring at the sky, its vast darkness only illuminated by the glow of the stars, I wondered if I could believe in miracles. Maybe the miracles of true love.

And for the millionth time that day, I wondered the never answered question of sweet love, 'is it worth it?' Is it worth to love someone with all your heart and soul if you just lose them?

I stood up slowly and stretched my legs that fell asleep during the time I had sat on the porch. I made my way down the stairs to the back yard of our house. I walked purposely to the oldest, most beautiful tree in the yard and ran my fingers over the bark. I circled the tree until I found what I was looking for. Nathan and Haley engraved onto the bark. Always and forever.

And for the first time all day, I sank down to my knees beneath the woody oak tree and wept. The tears came out in floods that never ceased nor hesitated. And just when I thought that I couldn't be more miserable, the rain came and brought with it memories that I had tried to shut out for fear of losing my sanity.

I cried and cried, my body shaking as I held Nathan's jacket around me for support and comfort. And I realized that the police officer didn't just take with him my dreams and love. He took my everything.

"Black or regular?" my mother asked as she withdrew two mugs from the top kitchen cabinet.

I stared, my face blank at a kitchen cabinet opposite me. It was identical to every other cabinet in the room but for some reason my eyes couldn't tear away from it.

"Honey?" my mother said loudly.

I slowly turned to face her. "Huh?" I blinked.

"Coffee?" my mother said patiently, holding up the mugs.

"Oh, yes please. Regular" I said, running my hair through my recently washed hair. It smelled like my shampoo, it smelled just like it always did after I washed it. Come to think of it, the kitchen too smelled the same and looked exactly the way it had this morning. How can the little things stay the same when the big important things…. die?

My mother interrupted my thoughts when she placed two hot mugs of coffee in front of me. I pulled the mug and sipped the hot drink, feeling the warmth slowly creep back into me.

"You always tell me never to drink coffee at night?" I said making light conversation.

"Tonight is an exception" she said, delicately drinking her own coffee.

I looked down, not wanting to get into some big talk on why tonight was an exception.

"Honey? I know this is a bad time but-…" she paused. "We have to make some arrangements. For the funeral".

I sighed, pulling my dressing gown tighter around me. The warmth I had earlier felt now sank to my feet and disappeared to the ground. My teeth chattered slightly as I stood up and walked to the old radiator at the corner. I fixed the dial and pretty soon a wave of hot air rushed out of the machine. The hot air passed me but somehow it didn't make the cold disappear. I shivered as I turned to face my mother once more.

"I can't mum" I said, softly.

"Hon-…" my mom started.

"No" I interrupted. "I can't. Not right now. Tomorrow" I said, confidently.

I paused for a moment before continuing. "In that cabinet, the one on the far right is a tray, a beautiful ceramic tray that Nathan's parents got us as a wedding gift. And it's so high up then I can never get it out of the cabinet by myself. Every time I try, it nearly falls on the ground but Nathan saves it from breaking. Every single time. And now all I can think about is how I can never get that tray out again".

My mother opened her mouth and looked like she wanted to say more but to my relief, she kept silent.

We sat there in the kitchen table for what seemed like hours. Time passed us by as we settled in a comfortable silence. As I stared at my mother, I suddenly realized in horror that we sit down here in this room, bonded by more than just blood. We had more in common now that ever before, I was now a widow just like she had been these past 8 years.

I stared down at her tired hands clasped upon the kitchen table, her eyes aged by more than just years and her wedding band on her finger. Theirs had been an amazing marriage, I knew. But it had lasted much longer than mine, and for that I envied her.

"I'm going to bed, Haley-Bop" she finally said as she stood up and dumped her mug in the sink.

"Goodnight Mum" I said as I watched her walk to the kitchen door. I turned my head and faced the coffee mug in my hands and I thought she had left until I heard her speak.

"Haley?" I looked up. She was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Time heals all wounds, honey. Remember that".

"Mum, did you love Dad?" I asked, not meeting her eyes.

"Of course I did Hales" my mother answered, slightly confused.

"If you loved him as much as I loved Nathan, then you would know, Mum" I looked at her in the eye. "That time doesn't really heal this wound" I said, the tears streaking down my face again. I gave up wiping them away; it would be useless as they would always flow.

"I love you, honey" my mother said softly.

I waited until I heard her make her way upstairs before I stood up and made my way to the living room. On top of mantelpiece was our wedding picture. We were sixteen in that picture. Two crazy kids, hopelessly in love. I didn't know if I wanted to hold that picture or break it.

I picked it up and held it close to my heart. Then I lay down on the couch and cried myself softly to sleep as I prayed for the sun's ray to bring my Nathan home.

I awoke hours later to the sound of movement outside my door.

"Mom?" I asked, wearily as I twisted around in the sheets. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes sleepily. I yawned as I took in the surroundings of my green and yellow bedroom. There was something odd about me waking up in my room but in the tiredness of my mind, I couldn't put a finger on it.

I got up from bed, trying to wonder why my head was pounding so hard. I rubbed my temples as I made my way to my long mirror in the corner. Events of the previous day hit me hard as I walked to the mirror and I stopped short. The phrase 'tomorrow is another day' didn't seem to apply to this. Even in the bright lighting of day, the pain was still as fresh and real.

I continued to walk in a daze to the mirror and stood in front of it, not really acknowledging my surroundings. When I finally came to, I realized that there was a long blanket covering the mirror. My eyes narrowed as I tried to remember why I had covered the mirror. I swung around to face my dressing table mirror to find that that too was covered with bedcovers.

Brushing away my confusion, I walked out of the room, grabbing my robe as I did. As I stepped into the hallway and wrapped my robe around me, I noticed that every mirror in the hallway was covered with either blankets or bedcover. Maybe my mother was trying some feng shui to get rid of the negativity in the house.

"Mom?" I called again. I walked to the guest room where she had moved in yesterday. "Why is there-…?" I stopped short when I realized that the room was empty. The bed was neatly made and untouched; the whole room looked untouched and bare and I couldn't see my mother's big suitcase anywhere.

I didn't get a chance to ponder on this because just then, I heard noises coming from downstairs. I backed out of them room and made my way to the staircase. As I walked down, my mind was blank; this was too much to comprehend so early in the day.

My feet made no sound as it touched the steps one at a time. The whole house seemed eerily silent except for a few noises here and then. I grabbed the banister tightly as I tried to control myself. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, I just knew it. My heart started pounding uncontrollably. I nearly stopped walking but I had to know if it was true.

Because I have heard those same sounds every day for the last ten years. But to hear those sounds today…to come down these stairs…I couldn't breathe. Something's terribly wrong. What do I do?! The stairs seemed to drag on down forever. The sound were getting louder, the familiar echo of the newscaster talking on the small television placed on the kitchen counter, the recognizable clanking noise of the coffee mug hitting the saucer and the humming… The humming was what scared me. It was his favorite tune.

I held my breath and reached the ground floor with one final step. I couldn't look up yet. I needed air…it can't be true…it's impossible…just a few feet away from me sat like a spotlight from heaven shining on it was that familiar gold buckled black suitcase.

The hair stood on my arm. I felt someone staring at me from behind and I started trembling. I swung around and nearly screamed.

Nathan Scott stood at the kitchen counter, drinking his morning coffee…alive.