Page 51 of Halfway to Hell
He had cycled through every emotion imaginable since her death—anger, disbelief, confusion, sadness. He’d battled panicand anxiety. Sadness and depression had driven him into nights of drinking, spiraling into blackout rages that left him hollowed and broken.
But the numbness—that cold, empty void—was what terrified him most. It made everything easier, more manageable in a twisted way, allowing him to face what others might crumble under. The only emotion he hadn’t felt was denial. He knew. He was fully aware she was gone.
So why was he standing there, hesitating to open the harmless box? Fear. Fear of ripping open wounds he had so carefully sealed shut. He knew exactly what awaited inside that simple chest—pictures and clothes. Nothing dangerous. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Yet it was a lie. Everything in that unassuming cedar box had the power to pull him down into the darkness again.
With a sharp breath, Texas shoved away from the doorframe and made his way to the bed. He sat down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. His knees bounced uncontrollably, his whole body trembling with the weight of it all.
If he wanted to move forward with Sunday, he needed to find a way to say goodbye to Lisa. The problem was, he didn’t know if he could. Didn’t know if he was ready to let go. He’d held on to her memory like a fragile thread, a string tethering his hand to her soul—one he wasn’t sure he could sever without breaking himself.
Like a kite being pulled away in the wind, with every slip of the string the kite drifted further and further away. Now, it was sodistant he could make out its shape— a dark silhouette against the pale sky.
Leaving the bed behind, Texas moved quietly across the room and settled onto the floor. Fingers trembling, he lifted the gold chain that hung around his neck, unclasped it, and slid the small key into the keyhole of the cedar chest. He paused for a moment, heart pounding, before slowly turning the key.
The latch clicked open.
He took a deep breath. The chest hadn’t been opened since shortly after his wife died. He barely remembered what was inside—only that it held pictures and memories of a life that existed before the accident, before everything had changed.
Opening the chest, the sharp, camphor-like fragrance rose up, filling the air around Texas. On top lay a white sheet, carefully tucked in at the edges. He lifted one corner gently and began folding it back, slowly unfolding the fabric until he could set it aside. His eyes settled on the contents beneath, and a nervous shiver passed through him and perspiration dotted his forehead as he wiped a trembling hand over his mouth.
The first thing he reached for was a small black box, compact and square. Holding it to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss to it, a whisper of memory. Then, slowly, he opened the box—and there it was—the very first ring he’d ever bought for Lisa.
The ring was a slender gold band with a tiny speck of a diamond—simple, yet precious. Tears welled up as he remembered how proud Lisa had been to wear it, the way she’d flash it with such joy and pride, as if it were the Hope Diamond itself.
Wiping away a tear that escaped down his cheek, Texas carefully set the box aside and reached for the next one. His handstrembled violently. He hadn’t forgotten the box itself—nor could he never forget why it existed.
Texas set the box carefully on his lap and opened it. On top lay the only picture he had of his daughter—her small form nestled against Lisa’s chest, with him lying beside them on the bed. His large hand rested protectively on his little girl’s tiny back. Even now, he could still feel the faint, fragile beat of her heart struggling to live.
He wiped his face again, swallowing hard before setting the photograph aside. From the bottom of the chest, he pulled out a gallon-sized zip-lock bag. Slowly, he opened it at the top and lifted it to his nose, inhaling deeply. The faint, lingering scent of his daughter clung to the delicate fabric of a tiny, thin baby blanket.
Covering his face with one hand, Texas shook his head slowly, fighting back the flood of tears that threatened to break free.
Carefully placing the keepsakes back into the box, Texas closed it and set it aside. He wasn’t sure he could keep doing this—sitting there, sober, facing the tragedy that had reshaped his life.
Lifting the tail of his shirt, he wiped the dampness from his face. Then, rifling through blankets, baby clothes, a jewelry box, and a few other scattered items, his fingers finally found what he was searching for—a white photo album.
With a heavy heart, Texas opened the album and began to study the pictures inside. Some brought a faint smile, others stirred sadness. But all reminded him how lucky he’d been to be loved by Lisa. As he adjusted the album to focus on a photo of them with his family, a yellowed piece of paper slipped quietly from between the pages, fluttering down to the floor.
Texas set the photo album aside and picked up the fragile sheet, his eyes scanning the faded words written long ago.
Texas read the letter slowly, each word sinking deep into the silence of the room.
Dear Ange,
As I sit here waiting on our daughter to make her grand appearance, I’m thinking of everything. Thinking about things that could go wrong. That got me thinking like always, yes, I’m overthinking.
And yes, love, I know I need to stop thinking so hard before I give myself an aneurism. Still, I wanted you to know my feelings. If something were to happen to me and I could no longer be here with you, I’d want you to be happy. To live a full, happy life with someone who will love you as much as me.
Not that I think anything will happen to me for many, many years, still it’s in my head and on my heart. Now, don’t think this means when I’m still carrying baby weight you can look for someone with a skinny waistline and firm boobs. Because you can’t.
I’m putting this away now, because I have to come find you. Why you ask? Because our daughter is ready to meet you, and we need to leave for the hospital.
I love you,
Lisa
Texas sank back onto the floor, the letter clutched tightly to his chest as the weight of years and memories finally broke through his defenses. He cried quietly at first, then with the raw abandon of a child lost and alone—grief and love mingling in a flood he’dheld back for far too long. In that moment, all the walls he'd built crumbled, leaving only the ache of loss and the fragile hope nestled in Lisa’s words.
