Beady eyes swept across every corner, every surface. They riveted towards the sound of each soulless sob, each tiny cough and pursing of the lips. Fluttered at every 'God rest his soul' and 'Peace be with them' uttered, not quite masking the whispers flying around like crazed bats.

Owen stood in the corner of the living room, his grip tight on the whiskey glass he was holding. He swallowed hard in an effort to stop gritting his teeth, afraid that his jaw might snap at any moment. 

How dare they? he thought as yet another pair of curious eyes flitted away from him after being caught shamelessly taking him in, speculating, judging. Not that he cared, of course. But Lora cared.

Beady eyes made her anxious. Curious gazes wound her up so tight he feared her spine might snap from the tension. The crazed whispers and her fear of them kept her in place, pinned down, without the chance to ever be herself. Hell! She barely had the freedom to think about who she was or who she wanted to be.

"That whiskey in your hand turned to piss about forty minutes ago."

He blinked and turned towards the sharp, no-nonsense voice coming from the small, young lady with a lot of spirit. 

"That sort of language really doesn't suit you, Jess," he countered lazily.

She glared at him. She wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to hate him. It would have been so easy to direct all her anger at him. But she couldn't. Dr Owen Shaw had spent the past few months practically living with them, tending to their father almost on a daily basis, bringing them the medical supplies he needed, checking his blood levels, making sure he didn't get toxicity from the IV anti-epileptics he had to take to get the seizures to stop completely. He dragged him out of two severe chest infections which had put him on the brink of death and not once did Jonathan say thank you. On a good day, he would have glared and grunted in acknowledgement.

Owen took it like a man. He treated her father with care and devotion and an admirable score of patience. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes low and every night, she saw him leave the house with a broken heart as he wished them all a good night.

Jess's eyes dropped to the floor. She hadn't spoken to Owen directly since that afternoon when she'd caught him and her aunt in his office. 

"Thank you," the girl mumbled in a low voice. Owen Shaw turned to her, and as she lifted her head, she felt herself shrink under his piercing green gaze. "It couldn't have been easy for you."

Owen looked at her gravely for a long time before his eyes automatically went back to the kitchen doorway on the other side of the room, where the sole object of his focus stood as still as a statue, her face so blank, her eyes so guarded there was no way anyone could guess what was going through her head. Anyone but him.

Jess followed his line of sight and sighed. "He didn't hate you, you know? He hated himself for not being able to make her happy the way you did. Even when you were out of the picture, he didn't stand a chance."

Owen listened quietly, trying and failing to digest her words. He leaned against the door to Jonathan's room, or rather, what used to be Jonathan's room. He knew it was empty. He helped Lora clear it out himself the day before and yet, he felt his presence. Something inside him knew it was just a matter of time until his growling voice would call for him, just so he can send him packing straight to hell. 

"He would have hated this," he stated, only his lips moving. Then he let out a short laugh, not with satisfaction or malice. It was the pure sound of irony. Like an inside joke. "If he were here, he would be cursing from Marsaxlokk to Gozo until he ran everyone out of his house.

A broad smile crept onto Jess's lips. "Can you imagine the looks of mock horror and excitement? All that gossip!"

"Best day of Marion's life!" Owen agreed. But his face became solemn again, thinking of what something like that would do to Lora.

And just at that moment, their eyes met across the room. Her beautiful doe orbs reminded him of a trapped animal. It hurt him to realise that they were the only indication that she was actually feeling something, the only living organs in an otherwise hollow carcass. His grip tightened around the glass again. His jaw ached. He almost wished Jonathan were here to curse everyone out, just so that she could have the freedom to scream, break things, cry. Whatever she needed to let it all out.

#

Lora would have felt her heart stop if only it had been beating before. But it didn't have enough room to beat. Her lungs didn't have enough room to breathe. The room was too full, too stuffy with the whispers and glances and crocodile tears of people who pretended to care.

Over three hundred people turned up for Jonathan's funeral. Three hundred! They didn't even know three hundred people. Jonathan didn't have any family left. Her own family consisted of eight people and a baby and this was including Karl. Her friends from the Neurosurgical Ward turned up as a sign of respect to her, and a few regular clients were, in all fairness, expected. Jona was an esteemed businessman after all. But that surely did not amount to three hundred persons. It didn't even amount to the fifty or so people flooding her living room right now, each one curious to see the great Jonathan Scicluna's house. Each one craving a story to tell tomorrow morning. All hoping to find out who the man beside the grieving widow was.

I heard he's an ex-boyfriend.

I heard he was a friend of Jona's. They grew closer when he got sick.

His friend or his brother? He has a brother but they don't talk, apparently.

Nonsense, he's a doctor! He used to work with Lora. That's how he knows them.

He's so good-looking. No wonder Jonathan didn't want her working at that hospital anymore. I mean look at them! They all look so perfect. Can you imagine all those hours together? Something is bound to happen.

She heard them. She heard every word. Even those that weren't said out loud. Lora felt her stomach churn. She was sick of smiling and thanking people for coming.

God be with you.

Your husband is in a better place.

May God rest his soul.

It was a miracle her eyes didn't roll to the back of her head. Not once. But she was reaching her limit. Even with her arms firmly wrapped around her chest, anyone who bothered to look closely enough could see she was trembling.

They would pass it for grief, of course. They would pass her rudeness for shock. Sorrow.

But if anyone saw the fire in her eyes as they locked with his over the black sea between them, there was no passing it for anything less than the blackening sky at three in the afternoon as Jesus Christ committed his spirit into the Father's hands on one of the three crosses perched on top of Golgotha.

#

It was already dark when Wayne and Janet left. They were the last people there. Baby Hannah was long, asleep in her cot and they stayed to help them clean up. Lora thanked them from the bottom of her heart and Janet gave her a meaningful hug before she left.

When she returned to the living room, Karl was holding a forlorn-looking Krista in his arms and Jess was on the sofa with Aiden on her lap, Siena snoring softly beside them. She saw the question that was burning a hole through her insides reflected in every set of eyes that looked up to her as she stood, lost, in the middle of the room.

What now?

Soft clattering noises came from the kitchen. Owen was putting away the glassware and cutlery he and Wayne had washed and polished. She didn't know if it was comfort or apprehension that grounded her wavering body, but it gave her enough strength to speak. "It's been a long day. Let's get some sleep. Karl, are you okay to drive? You can sleep here if you want."

Krista turned to her aunt, eyebrows raised in astonishment. Lora had grown to respect Karl very much and she loved him for loving her niece. But not once had she offered to let him stay over.

"That's okay, Lora," he answered politely. "I'm good." He kissed Krista on her forehead and left firing a soft good night to everyone.

Aiden clutched Jess even tighter, sensing it was time for bed. "Can you sleep in our room, Jess? Just for tonight."

Jess looked down at the shaking boy. He had been quiet throughout the service. As a matter of fact, he had not shed a single tear since the moment Jona's heart monitor stopped beeping, and Owen confirmed with a sombre look and barely-perceptible nod that Jonathan had indeed passed away. 

Lora had spoken to him and Siena separately, and while Siena had cried and cried, Aiden had stayed strong and comforted his sister throughout. But now that Siena was finally exhausted and succumbed to the peaceful sleep her little body needed, Aiden found himself face to face with his emotions, and like every adult in that room, he was at a loss on how to deal with them.

"Of course," Jess answered. "What do you think, Krista? Do you want to sleep in Aiden's room too? There's plenty of room in Siena's bed."

Krista smiled softly. "I thought you'd never ask," she answered, scooping up Siena and starting up the stairs.

Lora heard the dull thud of their bedroom door closing and something inside her quaked. She sat down and set her head in her hands, wanting to stabilize herself, her weariness, her emotions. Her head was a jumble of words, whispers and suspicious gazes from the past hours. The past months even. They lingered on the walls staring at her, yelling, judging and accusing. Jona's voice, her mother's glances, the neighbour's questions. The fake hugs and insincere condolences. Father Louis's assurances that God is with her through this difficult time. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Her fingers gripped her hair and she squeezed her eyes shut. God is with her. God is with her. But at that moment, she doubted if even God himself could make sense of everything going on inside her head. 

It hurt. Physically. She felt the pressure of her raving thoughts slamming against her skull.

"Lora, are you alright?"

His soft voice seeped through the noise and the pressure shifted to her chest instead. It was the most he'd said to her in weeks, but who could blame him? She hadn't said much either as she watched him examine her husband, his face strained with concentration and concern. He stood by her even as she administered the chain of IV antibiotics he prescribed for him. There wasn't much to say. So they said nothing.

God is with her. But what was He thinking? What did He think of her?

She sensed Owen crouch down in front of her. She could just picture his palms flexing, wanting to touch her cheek, to lift her head to his. But he must have decided against it because soon after she heard him sigh and stand up.

"I'm... uh... I'm going home, Lora. There were some sandwiches left. I put them in the fridge for you if you feel like eating something later."

He waited for her to answer. But she didn't. So, he turned around and walked slowly towards the front door. He put his hand on the handle. Suddenly, he struggled to breathe, his lungs unable to expand, his heart fighting to rip out of his chest and go back to her. Against his better judgement, he turned for one last look at her.

She was still in that same position, looking so small in the middle of the massive couch, head down, fingers gripped in a fist inside her brown hair with golden lights.