The room is filled with his ghosts, spaces he'd once occupied, words and smiles that still haunt its walls and corners. She's sitting by the window, wrapped up in his old jacket where his scent still lingers, cradling in her hand a small reminder, a lifetime of memories to treasure and never let go.

"Take care of her," he'd said. His last words. His final request. A curse left to me, to the both of us.

And I would have. I would have done anything to fill that void he's left by her side, to be that missing hand she needs to hold, to live forever in his shadow if she'd let me.

But there was no place left in her story I could fill, no smallest piece of her heart once reserved for me he didn't take with him. She needs to cry, but not on my shoulder, to be saved but not by me.

How does one compete with ghosts, with untainted memories left behind, with what once was but never will be again? He's gone and I have no place in her life, no right to reside in his shadow, no small piece of her heart.

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