"Rose," Emma called. "I am really sorry about yer loss. Please do accept our condolences. Yer mot'er was family."
Rose lifted her gaze from Emma's slightly bigger stomach to her face. It was red and a little puffy in the cold. She had on a little black hat with frills which she tied underneath her neck to stop it from getting blown away.
Rose thought it was a sight to see—a baby. Her friend was expecting a child. Rose realized this was the first time she would lay eyes on her, and it wasn't as bad as she expected—all she could think about was the baby.
"Thank you, and thank you for coming," she said after some time, remembering that Emma had spoken to her.
Her friend instantly looked relieved, and tears spilled down her face. She tried to wipe them, but they only poured out some more.
"I didn't come to visit because I thoug't ye wouldn't want to see me. I'm sorry. I knew yer mot'er was quite ill. I oug't to 'ave. I really oug't to 'ave."
Ander stood next to her, also wearing black clothes, and he gently put an arm around her waist to comfort her. Rose didn't hate it, and she was glad he wasn't spewing the rubbish he had when he appeared on her doorstep. He looked like he was ready to be a father.
Rose was glad they had each other; she was at the losing end, but it would be denial to think things would go back to the way they were. The same way they couldn't fix this. She wished them the best.
Rose couldn't offer them a smile, her heart wasn't in that place. "Congratulations," she said instead. "You'd make a wonderful mother, and you two do look good together."
"Rose…" they both said simultaneously.
"If you'd excuse me," she said and turned away, walking towards her father.
Rose closed her eyes briefly as she turned away. When she opened her eyes, they were dry, and she slipped her hand through the gap in her father's arm. She wasn't ready to let go of her mother just yet, but this one—this one was long forgotten.
"Rosie," her father called with concern. "Are ye okay?"
Rose didn't think so. She was far from it. Right now, she would rather go to the grave and dig her mother out. She'd rather scream at the sky and curse the gods for letting this disaster happen. Her mother had been sick for a very long time, and instead of getting better, things only took turns for the worse. She wanted to break something, but she didn't do that.
"Yes, Fat'er," she said sullenly. "I am okay. Let's go home." Rose knew home would never be the same without her mother, but it was still their home.
He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, let's go."
It was a long walk back home, and neither of them said anything. Occasionally, her father would have to return greetings, but Rose only did so if they spoke to her directly.
Her mother's funeral was held mid-morning, but by the time they got home, it was past noon. Rose headed for the front door, going over the small patch of grass before the cottage.
They got to the door, and her father opened it and walked in, but Rose didn't immediately do the same. She just stood rooted to the spot as she stared in.
"Rosie," her father gently called.
Rose shook her head as she snapped out of it, then she took a step forward and into the house. Even though sunlight filled the streets and the sun floated into the room through the open spaces and cracks in the house, it still felt dark.
She walked into the house, spotting the bed her mother was usually on. She walked towards it and imagined her mother would look at her in disapproval as she had spent too much time outside.
She would then help her mother to a sitting position and try to comfort her by saying she would prepare lunch, but this wasn't going to work now.
Rose turned away from the bed. "I will prepare lunch."
"Rosie," her father said, his exhaustion slipping out a little. "Ye can sit. Ye don't 'ave to cook now."
Rose knew what her father meant, but she had to keep moving; she had to do something, or else it would catch up to her. She didn't know what it was, but it would.
"I am fine, Fat'er," she said in that same tone.
Vallyn nodded and walked towards the bench. He dropped down onto it, staring at the empty bed. If Rose squinted, she could almost see her mother lying down.
"Come, Rosie," her father called, tapping the space beside him. "Come sit wit me."
Rose wanted to argue that she needed to prepare lunch, but she moved before she even thought about it. She dropped onto the bench and rested her head on her father's arm. They didn't say anything for the longest time, just stared at the empty bed. After some time, her father broke the silence.
"I miss 'er," he softly said. "I miss 'er so muc'."
"Me too," she said and sniffled. "I miss 'er a lot, and I don't know how to understand that I will never see her again."
"It's okay," her father said. "Yer mot'er wouldn't want ye wasting away at 'er death. Tha's tha opposite of wha yer mot'er wants. Yer mot'er wanted ye to be 'appy, free, not tied to 'er bed. I won't ask ye to understand—I don't miself—but don't cage yerself. It's okay to understand in yer time.
"Yer mot'er loved ye a lot, and I know yer mot'er still does. Remember I love ye too. Always. No matter wha, I'd be rig't 'ere."
Rose wrapped her arms around her huge father. "Fat'er," she cried as tears poured down her face. "I love you too. Always."
Her father turned a little to the side so he could give her a proper hug as they sat on the bench, both clinging to the space her mother once filled.