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Missie stood barefoot in the soft grass of the backyard. The air was warm with that golden shimmer only summer evenings knew how to wear, and the sky above glowed the color of honey. Then, she heard it. A soft humming drifted through the air—gentle, familiar. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned slowly. There he was.

Jack. Standing by the edge of the porch, hands in his pockets, that heartwarming smile tugging at his lips as he hummed their song—Keith Whitley's Ten Feet Away. His eyes—those beautiful blue eyes—were locked on her, glistening with a warmth that nearly brought her to her knees.

"Jack..." Missie breathed, tears welling in her eyes

Jack walked toward her, slow and sure, and opened his arms. She rushed into them like a wave returning to shore.

"I miss you," Missie choked out, her face pressed into his chest. "God, I miss you so much."

Jack held her tightly, his lips brushing her temple. "I know, baby. I miss you, too."

Missie pulled back slightly to look up at him, brushing his face with trembling fingers. "So much has happened. Brooke's working for Armani now. Can you believe it? And all the girls—Whitney, Kaitlin, Farrah—they're there, too. You always knew they'd make it. You were right."

Jack smiled, that same quiet, proud smile that made her feel seen.

"And Jesse—he's in real estate now. High-end stuff. He's so good at it. So warm with people. He has your heart. You'd be proud of him." Missie said

Jack nodded. "I am. I've been watching."

Missie laughed through her tears. "Of course you have." Then her voice faltered. Her hands trembled as she held his. "I reconnected with Johnny," she said softly. "My high school sweetheart."

Jack didn't flinch. He only listened, still, steady. She leaned into him again, taking in his scent, his warmth. "I've tried to be strong," Missie whispered. "But it's been so hard without you."

Jack pulled her back gently, his gaze searching hers.

"He's been so kind to the kids, and our nieces. He makes me laugh," Missie said, her throat tightening. "I'm scared Jack. I'm afraid to love again. Like really love. I'll never love anyone like I loved you. It feels like betraying you."

Jack's eyes grew tender, and he brushed a tear from her cheek. "Missie, listen to me." She looked into his eyes—the eyes that had loved her deeply through everything. "Loving again isn't betrayal. It means your heart is still open—after everything."

Missie shook her head, voice cracking. "Johnny was my first love, yes, but you gave me everything. You were the one I truly loved."

Jack cupped her face. "I know. That kind of love doesn't vanish."  Tears streamed freely now as Missie stared at him, the man she had loved more than life itself. "I want you to be happy, even if I'm not the one beside you now. You deserve joy. You always did."

"But I'll always love you," Missie whispered.

"And I will always love you. Nothing changes that. Not time. Not death. Not even someone new." Jack said, as he lip quivered. "I'm at peace, Missie. I'm okay now. But you—you're still living, and you deserve peace too. You deserve love now, not just in memory."

Missie tearfully nodded as she rested her forehead against his.

"You didn't stop loving me just because I was gone. And I wouldn't want you to stop loving just because I'm not there to receive it. Love is too rare. Too precious." Jack smiled softly. "Let your heart open again. It's not betrayal. It's grace."

Missie pressed her forehead to his, eyes closed. "But I'll never stop loving you."

"I know," he whispered. "And I'll never stop loving you either. I'm with you. In every step forward, every laugh, every quiet moment when you wonder if I'd understand. I do."

The wind picked up gently, lifting the edges of his shirt, rustling the trees. The sky shimmered, then began to fade.

"I want you to be happy," Jack said, his voice growing lighter, more distant. "Promise me you'll let yourself be."

"I'll try," Missie whispered, reaching for him.

"I know you will."

The sky began to fade, the colors softening. The hum of Ten Feet Away returned, wrapping around them like a lullaby. Jack kissed her forehead, and for one last, perfect second, she closed her eyes in his arms. And then, like the sunlight slipping behind the clouds, he was gone.

___

Missie woke with a sudden gasp. Her chest ached—not physically, but with a weight that grief knows all too well. That cruel, hollow throb where love used to rest easy. The room was dark, shadows thick around her, the digital clock glowing 2:17 AM. A trembling hand rose to her lips, still tasting the memory of his kiss. Jack. He had felt so real.

Tears spilled before she could stop them. She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow tight, burying her face in it as if she could breathe him back into being. The scent was fading now, but her heart remembered. Six years gone, and it still clung to the memory like ivy on stone.

"Let your heart open again," he'd whispered in the dream. But how?

Minutes passed—maybe hours—before she finally forced herself out of bed. Her limbs felt heavy, like grief had settled into her bones. Reaching for her satin robe, she tied it over her nightgown, and crept down the stairs, barefoot, careful not to wake the quiet house.

In the kitchen, she flicked on the small light over the stove. The warmth of it spilled across the counter as she filled the kettle. The silence was absolute. No hum of conversation, no laughter echoing from upstairs. Just her, and the ache of longing.

She stood at the window, waiting for the water to boil, staring out at the backyard cloaked in moonlight. The same backyard where Jack had smiled at her in the dream, humming that old Keith Whitley song. Ten Feet Away.

The whistle of the kettle broke the silence, sharp and shrill. She poured the water slowly, watching the steam rise, clinging to the mundane ritual as if it might tether her to the moment.

Then came the footsteps.

Soft, hesitant.

Brooke appeared first, her eyes squinting against the light, hair tousled from sleep. "Mom?" she murmured. Missie turned to face her daughter "Couldn't sleep?" Brooke asked gently, already reading the truth in her mother's eyes.

Missie tried to smile, but her lips trembled instead. Mason came next, rubbing his face, and moments later, Whitney, Kaitlin, and Farrah stepped into the kitchen, wrapped in blankets, drawn by some invisible thread of knowing.

"Is everything okay?" Mason asked, voice low, careful.

"Bad dream?" Kaitlin questioned softly

"No," Missie said quietly. "A good one. The kind that breaks your heart when you wake up." she set her cup down with trembling hands. "I dreamed of him. Jack. He was there, in the backyard. Smiling like he used to. Humming our song."

Whitney's voice caught. She stepped forward and reached for her aunt. "Oh, Aunt Missie..."

Missie gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white. "He told me he missed me. Said he was proud of all of you. He held me. It felt so real. But then he said I needed to let go. To live again." she paused, her voice trembling. "It felt like goodbye. Like he was really leaving this time."

Brooke stepped forward first, wrapping her arms around her mother from behind. Mason joined, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then the girls closed in, forming a circle of warmth in the dim kitchen light.

Missie closed her eyes and leaned into them, her voice breaking as she softly spoke. "I hope all of you realize if Jack were to ever come back—even for a moment—I hope God knows I would never send him back. He was so good to me. To us."

Farrah gently took her hand, "Maybe he's just reminding you that you're allowed to keep living. Not instead of him. But with him still inside you."

Missie's shoulders trembled. "I don't know how to move forward without feeling like I'm betraying him."

Kaitlin's voice was quiet but certain. "You're not. You're carrying him with you. We all are."

Whitney wiped her eyes with a tissue, "You and Uncle Jack... you were the kind of love we all hope we get to find. And just because he's not here, doesn't mean that love disappears."

Missie looked at their faces—each one reflecting a piece of Jack she had loved. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, the pain raw on her face.

Missie's voice cracked, and her body followed, folding forward with the weight of that truth. Brooke caught her, steadying her gently.

"Every night," she said, voice catching, "I hold his pillow. I press it against me and wonder if he can feel my body. If he knows how badly I want him back. I want him back, sometimes I can't stand it."

Brooke was crying now too, her forehead pressed against her mother's shoulder. "We never want you to stop," she said. "He's still with you. With all of us."

"I just miss the sound of his laugh," Missie continued. "The way he'd touch the small of my back when no one was looking. How he'd hum when he was shaving. I miss the feel of his hand in mine when we'd fall asleep. Every night I remember it. Every night."

No one spoke. There was nothing to fix. Only a grief to be carried—and shared.

Finally, Mason said quietly, "We'll keep remembering him with you, Mom. We always will."

Missie looked up, eyes glistening, her heart exposed like an open wound. "Thank you," she whispered. "For letting me talk about him. For still loving him with me."

And in the still of the night, with the moon high and tea forgotten, they held each other close. Grief didn't vanish in the darkness—but neither did love. And maybe, Missie thought... that was how Jack would always stay close.