The sunlight is streaming through the curtains just as I wake up, its bright rays washing the pale walls of my bedroom golden. I'm warm. When I breathe in, it smells of Jared. My Jared.

Someone groans beside me. The blankets shift to reveal a tangled nest of chocolate locks. Brown eyes blink open, and I'm immediately lost in their depths.

"Good morning, Jared."

I would've gladly spent the entire morning gazing into the warm infinity in his eyes. But he stretches, and his eyes roll back to his head when he hears his joints pop.

He's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. Around his neck is a small silver wing, attached to a length of string in a makeshift necklace. If it had belonged to an angel, it would've been its left wing.

The necklace was my gift to him on our first wedding anniversary. I have one too—the other wing. He must've forgotten to take it off again last night.

Jared makes his way to the nearest window, which he opens with a small, contented smile on his face. I follow him, wrapping myself up in the smell of spring and Jared. He's everything I never thought I'd find, and every moment in his arms is a taste of heaven.

I lose myself in the moment, so much so that I barely notice Jared standing up. When I do feel the distance between us, he's already walking to the bathroom—probably to freshen up.

I don't follow him. Instead, I lie back down on the bed again, and I just... smile. I found love in the man taking a piss a few feet away. Heaven was in his arms, and paradise in these sheets with him. I live in a two-story house in a quiet neighborhood with my husband of twelve years. And despite the uphill battle that I'd had to fight for falling in love with, and marrying, a man, I'd made it to the Promised Land.

The door to the bathroom opens. And Jared, without sparing a glance my way, walks straight to the door leading to the hallway.

The smile on my face fades. 

Did I do something wrong?

He heads straight for the kitchen, starting up the stove and the coffee maker.

"Jared?" I ask hesitantly. My husband stiffens. He turns around to look at me. His eyes meet mine—and for a moment, I'm flooded with sorrow and grief. There's a pain so profound that it takes my breath away. I blink.

The world's... transitioning somehow—like another image was trying to impose itself on the one I'm looking at right now. I'm in the kitchen with Jared, but at the same time, I'm looking through a windshield. There are lights flashing by me, and all I could feel is cold.

I blink. The blinding lights and the cold vanish. Jared's finished eating and is now washing up. I raise my eyebrows at how fast he's eaten. But when I notice how he's not looking my way, I tiptoe out of the room, hoping that I'd be excused from washing the dishes even though it's my turn to do so.

I make it out, and I rush up the stairs to our bedroom. I sigh in relief before giggling. I'm too old for this, not to mention I'm a man. Men don't giggle.

At least that's what my father once said, but I've stopped giving a shit about what he said ever since he kicked me out of the house.

"You're not my son." He'd said to me just before slamming the door in my face.

But Jared was there. Jared was always there.

Lying on the bed, I can hear the neighborhood slowly coming to life: dogs barking, cars honking, birds twittering... it's a beautiful day. I close my eyes.

The cold returns. There are no lights flashing by this time, but the windshield is cracked. The hood of the car is wrecked against something tall and dark. The headlights are busted. Behind me, the taillights illuminate a dark road, slick with ice.

There's a man beside me, but he's not warm like Jared. Something else creeps up from the cold outside and inside and everywhere really. It settles down on my shivered bones.

I blink my eyes open, and I catch Jared exiting the bathroom. He heads out our door, looking ready for a day out in ripped jeans and a plaid button-up. A jacket was tossed over his shoulder, and he grabs his keys over from our dresser. I follow him out, eyebrows raised.

We get into Jared's car, an old 1967 Chevy Impala that looks as good as the day Jared's brother handed it down to him. I can still remember him driving to school in that old thing so many years ago. I had tripped, accidentally scraping the passenger's side door with my pen. It didn't leave a mark, but Jared saw. And he'd been furious.

His rage had me screaming back at him, so much so that we had to be thrown into the principal's office and, consequently, detention.

At the end of the day, Jared and I were coming from opposite ends of the hall. He stalked over to me, glaring. He looked intimidating in his leather jacket and ripped jeans. Indignation had me lifting my chin up and narrowing my eyes. I started to make my way to him.

But then I tripped on a loose shoelace. I fell on my face.

I can still remember the way my crash bounced off the walls. Jared's eyes betrayed his shock when he looked at the clumsy mess of scrawny limbs that had been moî back in high school.

I gazed into his eyes.

"Fuck." I said, deadpan.

He laughed. But then I was laughing too. And when he helped me up, I could've sworn that it had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I'd been right. Looking into Jared's face now, after twelve years of being married to him, I can't help but trace a finger down his cheek before kissing it.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

Jared turns up the volume on his car's stereo. A powerful tenor bursts from the speakers and Jared jumps in the driver's seat. I laugh. My heart stutters in my chest when I recognize the song.

"My gift is my song, and this one's for you."

Ewan McGregor is a blessing to mankind.

"And you can tell everybody that this is your song."

There's sorrow in Jared's eyes, even with the smile on his face.

"It may be quite simple. But now that it's done..."

Jared is singing along, and a profound ache settles in my bones when I hear how broken he sounds.

"I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind that I put down in words..."

Why is he hurting?

"Jared?" I reach for the stereo to turn it off. But then the ache in my bones turns into cold, and darkness swallows my vision for a brief second.

Colour comes back in the forms of blue and black. Spring is gone, and all I could taste in my mouth was blood.

I choke on it. Something vibrates beside me, lighting up and buzzing against the cold form slumped against the wheel. Blood trickles down the driver's face, which gleams in the phone's harsh light. It's my father.

I gasp. The cold enters my lungs, burns my blood like fire.

There are flashing lights.

A car honks. I jump in my seat. The darkness and the cold are gone again, and when I look outside I see that we've stopped in front of a florist's shop, and my eyes widen in understanding.

Jared must want more flowers for my—our garden, at the back of our house. I'd started it around the second year of our marriage.

I follow Jared out of the car and into the store. I can hear him humming to the last song that had been playing on the car stereo. I don't remember the name.

We breeze past the various sections within the shop, and I lose myself in the brilliant splashes of color strategically arranged in beautifully woven baskets.

We eventually pass by a row of tulips on display, and Jared stops so suddenly I almost bump into him. Jared backtracks and his gaze rests on the blue forget-me-nots arranged to our right.

I raise an eyebrow when I hear Jared murmur something under his breath. But I don't quite catch it, and I'm confused when he plucks a flower from the bouquet and takes it to the cashier.

I want to follow him, but there's something in his slouch—it's as if he's shielding the flower from me. I let him walk on.

Behind the counter is a mousy girl with pretty lips and flowing brown hair. Jared's broad back is all I can see as he leans on the counter to talk to her. A sad smile spreads on the girl's lips.

What the hell is going on?

I swallow an impatient whine. I shake my head. I'm an adult now—adults don't lose their cool in public. We save that kind of shit when we're alone, preferably with a poison of our choosing. For me, it used to be vodka.

But then, I eventually let it be Jared.

I bring my attention to a bouquet of roses on my left. They're beautiful, and I remember the rosebush I tried to grow a few years back. Their fragrance soothes my fraying nerves. I breathe in deep. Close my eyes. One. Two. Three...

Eight... Twelve...

Cold.

Fifteen... Eighteen...

Blood.

Nineteen...

Numb.

Twenty...

I look back to the cashier. The girl's talking to someone else now—where's Jared?

He's on the other end of the aisle, near the door. In his hands is a bouquet of white roses and forget-me-nots. It's beautiful, and I trace the hands holding them so gently up, up, up... until I reach his face.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I'm looking at: the picture of heartbreak.

"Jared...?" I ask, my voice small. The heartbreak is still so clearly written on the lines on his face, and I can feel my own heart breaking when I see just how old he's become.

I run to him. And despite the few feet between, the distance feels like an eternity as I weave my way through everyone standing between us. When I finally make it to him, I look into his eyes—they're mourner's eyes. It hurts me to look into them.

He looks down at the bouquet, which trembles in his grip. His lips twitch in a half-hearted attempt at smiling. I can see the pieces of him struggling to fit themselves together, but there are precious shards missing. In the holes of his being, there's pain—and it's like a disease. It threatens to destroy him.

And I can't let that happen. I lay my hands on his.

"I love you," I whisper to him. And just like that, the trembling stops. I don't smile—there's never been any point to the both of us to smile when we hurt. Instead, I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in the crook of his neck.

He's cold in my embrace. He sighs and turns around. He leaves me standing in the middle of the store as he walks out the door and back to the car.

I'm empty as I follow him and get back into the car after him.

I expect Jared to drive us back to the house. But instead, we drive deeper into town. Past the fog of depression that had engulfed my mind, I'm confused. There's no more music playing from the stereo to chase away the tension. Dread settles heavy in my stomach.

We arrive in front of the local church, a simple building painted in white with blue accents. A single, looming spire tipped with a cross points to the sky.

We park. It's the weekend, but I don't know why the church is empty.

I don't understand what the hell is happening.

Jared steps out of the car, the bouquet of flowers in hand. I half-expect him to walk inside the building and leave the flowers as an offering to Mother Mary, or some other saint for a hundred causes that I have no hope of remembering.

But when he rounds the corner instead of going through the entrance, understanding dawns on me. The dread in my gut intensifies.

No.

He steps through the wrought, iron gates of the cemetery behind the church. A small breeze whistles through the bars, and when I look up the spring sun has become blanketed by dreary clouds.

Jared sighs. He hums under his breath, and it's a song I can remember all too well.

"Carry on, my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more."

Jared hums this to himself as he walks to the edge of the cemetery, where a simple stone cross stands. It's plain compared to the ornate designs of the other headstones there, decorated with smiling cherubs and winged guardian angels watching over their lifeless charges.

But from where we're coming from, the sunlight that manages to fight its way out of the cloud cover glints on something shiny and metallic laced around the cross. A necklace. I notice the glinting charm the same time Jared does.

I hear him sniffle. I look at him, and I catch the first tear rolling down his cheek.

A small silver wing is wrapped around a length of string that forms a makeshift amulet. I finger the same necklace as I watch Jared stand before the cross.

His hands are trembling again, the flowers quivering in his grip. He lays them down. Tears cascade down his face, which drips down to the flowers.

A sharp pain tugs at my heart. It brings me closer to my griever. Looking up at the agony on his face, I'm reminded of what I am to him—of what I used to be.

Jared finishes arranging the flowers. They are a beautiful contrast against the brown earth. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork with a sad smile. Tears trace the weary lines of his aged face, his brown eyes shattered and broken.

Both of our hearts break when my husband—the light of my life—kneels before my grave. He takes the amulet in his hand, and he kisses it.

"Hey, Gabe." Jared finally says. His deep voice is thick with emotion.

Gabe. Gabriel. That's my name.

I press myself against him. Even though his skin is warm against mine, I know now that he can't really feel me.

"Hey, yourself, big boy," I say. I don't know how real I am—but if I'm not real then what the hell is this pain? Why am I hurting?

I'm cold. I'm cold, and even with the heat bleeding from Jared, I can't seem to get warm.

"I miss you so much, Gabe," Jared whispers.

His eyes are red. I wrap my arms around him. I try to be warm for him, but all I can feel is cold.

"I miss you too, Jared. So much..." I whisper back. The words feel stuck in my throat.

My heart dies in my chest. I wonder if this is my afterlife—if I'm doomed to keep on repeating this day, where I start out so beautiful and perfect only for me to realize again and again that I'm not really there... with my Jared.

I must be dead. My husband's standing over my grave. But if I'm dead, then what am I doing here? Why am I here? Is this my punishment for loving the way I do? Have I been cursed to watch over my husband as he slowly dies from the inside?

"I'm doing fine though." Jared's voice snaps me out of the fog of self-deprecation that had fallen over my mind. His eyes are on the amulet, and they're a painful shade of red. I make myself look into them, despite the overflowing grief.

"I'm sure you'd be proud of me. The garden behind the house is blooming with the tulips we planted the day we started it."

He chuckles, and it sounds so broken that I let out a sob against him. I want this to stop. If I could, I'd take away everything that made him hurt—even if it included my being there, in his heart and mind.

Would it help if I left him? Could I even leave him?

I don't think so. I'm tethered to him. My love for him keeps me here—and truth be told, there's no other place I'd rather be.

"Gerald is doing well with Camille. They got married a year ago and—" this time, a sob cuts through his words. Jared holds his face in his hands as he tries to get his voice together to finish his sentence.

"They're expecting a baby girl."

I laugh at the news, but the tears continue to stream down my face. Gerald, my younger brother, finally got the guts to ask Camille Hart out.

Camille was the girl-next-door: brunette, pretty, and smart with a big heart to boot. She'd been a close friend of mine in high school, while Gerald was the popular kid. He and Jared had been friends back then too. So it came as a bit of a shock to him when Jared and I started dating when we entered college.

Gerald and Camille always had an odd relationship, even back in high school. They'd dance around each other, even though it was already obvious to even the most emotionally-constipated of our class that they liked each other. But no one was willing to give them the right shove, Jared and me included.

And now to hear that he's already graduated college and was about to start a family...

"I know I said I never wanted kids, Gabe, and I know that you said you were content with it just being the two of us. I know I am. But I can't help wondering what it would've been like if we did get a kid, raised it up as one of our own... someone to carry on our legacy once we're both gone."

Once we're both gone...

Despite the tears, a smile breaks out on my face. I am with him.

My being there meant something to him. I'm real to him.

And in the end, I know that that's all I'll really need.

"I know you suck at believing in God and angels and stuff like that." Jared takes out the angel wing on his necklace. His eyes alternate between looking into his necklace and mine. "But I swear that sometimes, I can still feel you here. With me."

"You never understood how I could believe in the existence of a better place after death in a world as dark as this. And I never tried to make you believe." He places his hand on his chest, just where his heart beats. "But Gabriel, wherever you are, I hope you know that you'll always be right here, in that special place you made in my heart."

"You live on through me." I could hear his voice whispering it in my ear. But his lips don't move.

"I live on through you," I whisper to the kneeling man.

"It hurts a lot sometimes," Jared confesses. "And sometimes I can't help but think about that night your father took you—"

Gabriel feels the cold creep up his spine. But Jared's words are the warmth he's so desperately needed. It settles down his shivered bones. His warmth stays with him, keeping the cold at bay.

"—and even though you don't believe in Heaven, I'm taking you there. I'll find you, wherever you are, and then I'm taking you with me. It's not Heaven without you, Gabe."

He kisses the wing once more. "I promise."

"Okay," I answer, lost in the love in his eyes. "I'll be waiting for you."