Page 88 of Somewhere Without You
“I hate it,”Danielle sighed.“Every time I have to make that call, it feels like I’m betraying them.”
“You did everything you could,” I reassured her.
She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.“I tell myself it’s mercy. That at least they’re not dying cold and alone on the streets. But it doesn’t make it easier.”
“No,”I said. “It doesn’t.”
Winston let out a soft huff and rested his head on my foot, as if he understood. Maybe he did.
“I wish there was more I could do,”I added, feeling helpless.
Danielle managed a small, sad smile.“Talking about it helps. Most people don’t want to hear it. They love the happy endings, the adoptions. But not the ones we lose.”
“They deserve to be remembered too,”I said.
“Yeah,”she whispered.“They do.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the soft patter of rain against the windows filling the space between us. Outside, the world looked washed clean, but everything inside me still felt muddied and tangled.
Dani glanced at me.“You okay?”
I nodded slowly.“I think so. It’s just. . . a lot.”
“Yeah,”she said, leaning back.“It usually is.”
I crossed the living room into the kitchen, pulled two mugs from the cabinet, and set the kettle on to boil. Dani didn’t drink coffee, and honestly, between the weather and the weight of our conversation, tea just felt right.
“How are things with your soldier?”she asked, taking the Earl Grey from my hands a few minutes later.
“James is dead,”I said, sinking into the armchair across from her.“His brother sent me a letter.”
“Wasn’t he always?”she asked, raising the mug to her lips. She took a careful sip, winced at the heat, and set it gently on the coffee table.“I mean, technically he lived almost two hundred years ago.”
“Yeah,”I said, running a hand through my hair.“But if what you said about us being soulmates is true. . . then what was the point of all this? Why bring him back into my life just to take him away again?”I shook my head. Between James, Logan, and Jackson, I was about ready to swear off men—past, present, and probably future.
Danielle gave a small shrug. She picked up her mug again, exhaled gently over the top, the steam bending over the rim at her breath.“That’s the thing about the universe. It’s not really meant to be understood.”
I followed with my own, hesitant sip.“You sound like my Gran.”
Both our eyes drifted toward the mantel where her urn sat quietly, watching over the room.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,”she grinned.
I smiled, the warmth of it tinged with grief. She truly did remind me of her, and that thought filled me with a bittersweet mix of sorrow and joy.
“Can I see it?”Dani asked abruptly.
I blinked.“My Gran?”
“No,” she laughed.“The satchel, or bag, or whatever it is. And the letters. Can I see them?”
I paused for a moment, then gave a quiet nod and disappeared upstairs. When I returned, I carried the leather satchel over my shoulder, placing it gently on the coffee table between us.
Carefully, I pulled out the stack of letters—some addressed to me, others to James’s wife, Charlotte.
Dani reached out, her fingertips gliding over the delicate paper like it might crumble beneath her touch.
“These are from James?”she asked, a hint of awe in her voice.
