Page 65 of Seven Lost Summers
By the time she reaches me, she’s already falling apart.
She crashes into my chest, arms around my waist, face buried in my shirt. Her body’s shaking, and I can feel every fucking ounce of pain pouring out of her.
I hold her tighter.
Let her fall apart in my arms, since there’s nowhere safe left to fall.
Then a voice sounds.
The priest begins to speak, his voice rising just enough to carry over the wind. Words about loss, about peace, about eternal rest. All delivered in that calm, practiced rhythm meant to comfort the grieving.
The words are distant, floating in the background, but all I register is the steady weight of Quinn leaning against me. She doesn’t make a sound, but I can sense her falling apart in the way her weight leans harder with every word spoken.
This is the end. This is the moment when everything we believe about life stops. I swallow, trying to push the ache clawing its way up my throat, but the pain sticks inside me. That white coffin stares back, daring me to accept what’s inside. Daring me to let her go.
But I can’t.
Time warps into something broken.
Seconds stretch and snap, looping in on themselves. I’m lost in a fog that doesn’t have an end or a beginning. Everything feels disconnected, as if I’m watching the events playout through glass. Distant echoes in a world that’s caved in. Nothing feels real. Everything hurts.
And that fucking coffin just sits there, holding all the pieces we’ll never get back.
A sound breaks through the haze. A mechanical hum, as it begins to lower her coffin into the ground.
When the fuck did they take the flowers off?
My eyes snap to the coffin.
That white box, inching downward, swallowed by dirt and finality. I blink hard, but nothing changes. I only keep watching the coffin move slow, as though the world’s being cruel on purpose. Every inch the box sinks, something in my chest tears deeper. My heart feels stalled, caught in the space between beats, and all I can do is stand rooted and watch her disappear.
Theo inches forward, pulled toward the grave as though gravity’s got a hold on him by the throat. His body moves on instinct as if he needs to be closer to her. He keeps his eyes locked on the coffin as the box lowers, as though he’s trying to memorize every fucking inch of the wood before the sight disappears. He’s following.
Step by step.
Closer to the edge.
For a second, I swear he’s going in after her.
Then Mom slips past me and reaches for him. Her hand gently curls around Theo’s arm. She doesn’t say anything, just holds on. And somehow, that’s enough. Enough to keep him here.
The machine comes to a sudden stop.
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It’s a chokehold. Pressed down on all of us like grief decided to grow teeth.
Then it happens.
The first thud of dirt hits the coffin.
The impact slams through me, tearing straight into my chest. A sound I’ll never fucking forget. That dull sound of soil against wood. Brutal in a way no one prepares you for.
The first blow wounds. The noise screams finality. No softness. Only the earth swallowing her whole, one savage shovelful at a time.
Beside me, Quinn flinches.
Not once. Every single fucking time. Her body jerks like each hit is landing on her instead. I wrap my arm tighter around her, try to shield her from it, but I can’t. None of us can.
That sound keeps coming, and with every drop of dirt, it’s like we’re being buried too.
