After the divorce, she lived in a storage unit. One night, she heard a knock from the other side of the wall, and what followed left her frozen…

You are… he began. But the words seemed inadequate. Surviving, she completed with a sad smile.

And you? One day at a time, he replied. And there was so much familiarity in that phrase that they both felt Alice’s presence between them, not as a painful shadow, but as a light that united them. They talked for hours, about the pain, about the guilt, about the fear, about how each of them had faced grief in different ways, how they drifted apart when they needed each other the most.

I thought looking at you would always be a reminder of what we lost, Livia confessed. But now I realize that looking at you is a reminder of everything we still have. Daniel reached his hand across the table, hesitant.

Livia looked at those fingers that had so many times held hers, that had caressed Alice’s face, that had dried her tears. And she held them. There, in that simple touch, there were no grand promises of eternal happiness.

There were no guarantees that the pain would disappear. There were only two broken hearts that finally understood that together, they could carry the weight that alone crushed them. We can start slowly, she suggested, her voice almost a whisper.

We have all the time in the world, he replied, softly squeezing her hand. As they left the café, the sky was painted orange and pink, the sun bidding farewell with a promise to return the next morning. They walked side by side, not holding hands but close enough to feel each other’s warmth…