Now
He never thought he'd ever see the pale face of his dead wife, eyes closed and marred with scratches, yet here he is, eyes locked on the woman who was alive just that morning.
He doesn't know what to think. How could one person be perfectly fine one second, then ruined the next? If there is a God up there, how could he have let this happen? Why did it have to happen to her?
His teeth are gritted so hard, he swears he feels a molar crack. His eyes burn with unshed tears, tears that'll fall as soon as he squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like he's having an out-of-body experience, like none of this is real, like Charlotte will jump on him in bed and he'll wake up from this horrid nightmare.
Charlotte. He closes his eyes tightly, and the tears fall.
How is he supposed to explain to her, a four year old girl, that her mother is gone? That she's not coming back? It's not something any parent should have to do.
He'd dropped Charlotte off at his old friends' house, Pete and , the only people him and Charlotte have left in their lives. Angela's parents are alive, but they've been taken over by grief as well, and they have never liked him anyway. He knows for a fact they'd rather he be the one who was dead instead of Angela. Hell, he wishes the same.
Sure, they had problems in their marriage, but she was still his wife, still the love of his life. He would never wish death on her. But death came anyway, came unexpectedly, and he is left to deal with the aftermath.
Without asking if he's finished, one of the nurses began to drape a sheet over her body, shielding her from his aching eyes. No emotion flickers in the nurse's eyes, probably because she's seen hundreds of bodies like Angela's. She's just another corpse to her.
The nurse wheels her body out of the room, leaving him alone in the white room, his nostrils burning with the scent of disinfectant and Lysol. He's been here for what feels like hours, but it's only been ten minutes. Ten minutes for the truth to show its face. Ten minutes for reality to sink in, to reveal that his wife is, in fact, dead.
"Sir," a female voice rips him out of his thoughts. Another nurse stands before him, her arms filled with paperwork. "I'm going to need you to fill out some papers, if you don't mind."
He responds with "I don't mind" because what else can he say? He takes the papers from her and allows his heavy feet to carry him to the waiting room. He feels like a corpse himself as he drops into one of the empty chairs.
Dead. My wife is dead.
Before he can jot a word on the papers in his lap, he stands up and races for the bathroom.
He empties the contents of his stomach into the sink, his throat raw by the time he's done. Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, his eyes bloodshot as he meets his reflection in the mirror.
His entire world has been turned upside down in a matter of minutes. He no longer has a wife, and his daughter no longer has a mother, and she isn't even aware of that yet.
Everything is ruined.
And he has no idea how to piece his life back together.
~
Charlotte has always been a bundle of joy, ever since the second she was born. Her face had a smile before she could even open her eyes. She rarely cried as a baby, and Patrick wondered if she was a miracle child.
Even now, there's rarely a day that goes by where there isn't a smile on her face. For him, that smile is a like a boost of serotonin. When she smiles, he smiles. But today, he can't make an effort to do so.
"Daddy!" The four year old runs to him, blonde pigtails bouncing. He catches her effortlessly. "Uncle Pete and Aunt Sam baked cookies with me? Do you wanna try one?"
Patrick's stomach sours at the thought of food. Still, he nods, not wanting to see his little girl disappointed.
She beams and hands him a chocolate chip cookie. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Pete and Sam watching him with pitiful eyes.
He forces himself to take a bite. He chews and tries to smile, but he's sure it looks more like a grimace. "It tastes great, honey."
Charlotte grins. "I can't wait to give mommy one when she gets home!"
Silence immediately engulfs the room like a dark fog. No one dares to say anything, not ready to break the news to an oblivious four year old. Patrick swallows the bile that's risen in his throat.
"We should get going," he says stiffly, glancing at Pete and Sam, who nod in understanding. "Thank you for watching her."
Pete steps forward and claps him softly on the back. It's more an act of comfort than anything. "Anytime, Patty, you know that."
"Bye Uncle Pete, bye Aunt Sam!" Charlotte waves to the adults as Patrick guides her out of the house. Well, it's more of a shack because Pete and Sam are old souls and they're not ones for the shiny things in life.
As the three bid their goodbyes, Patrick racks his brain for ways to tell a four year old about death. He didn't think he'd have to explain it so early on. Charlotte skips to the car without a worry in the world, and seeing her oh-so-happy makes it harder for him to do what he has to.
He situates her in her car seat as she requests for him to turn on the radio. Jazz music is her favorite, she insists it's because it's his favorite, too, and she likes whatever he likes.
"Daddy has to tell you something first, honey." He hopes he sounds normal and not like he's on the verge of a breakdown.
"What is it?" She bounces excitedly in her car seat, waiting for some sort of surprise. He wishes he could tell her something lucky, like they were going to her favorite restaurant for lunch or they were going to have a movie night. Instead he has to tell her something no child should ever have to hear.
"It's about mommy," he starts, willing his voice not to crack in front of her.
"Is she coming home now?"
He quickly blinks back tears that have started to form in his eyes. "Um, no, honey. She...she got into an accident this morning. A car accident. A person hit her with their car."
Charlotte looks up at him, half-confused, half-worried. "Is mommy okay?"
He shakes his head. His throat aches. "No, Char. She's not. She's...she's gone, baby."
"She's not gone, silly," Charlotte rolls her eyes. "Mommy can't be gone. She always comes back. She goes to work, and then she comes back."
"Charlotte..." He's seconds away from breaking, but he keeps himself together, for her. "Mommy isn't coming back. She got hurt really bad, and when someone gets hurt really bad like she did...they pass away. They're not...they're not alive anymore."
"You're lying." She says it calmly, but as she repeats the words she explodes. "You're lying! You're lying, you're lying, you're lying! Mommy's alive! Mommy is coming back, you'll see!"
"Char— "
"You're lying," she sniffles, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Mommy isn't gone. Mommy is gonna come home and I'm gonna tell on you!"
"I wish I was lying, baby," he whispers, allowing the tears to finally escape his eyes and cascade down his face. "I really, really wish I was lying."
The tears don't stop, from either him or her, and the drive home is spent in silence. As soon as she realizes he isn't lying, that her mother is truly gone, he's going to lose his carefree, happy little girl. And the entire world is going to lose its color, fading into a mottled grey until darkness swallows them whole.