Page 15 of Just Ten Seconds

I opened the door, and my stomach dropped.

“Seven …”

Benjamin was standing in his office with his best friend and partner, Michael Warner.

“Eight …”

My eyes looked down the barrel of a gun.

“Nine …”

A shot rang out, as silent as it was excruciatingly loud.

“Ten …”

I fell to the floor, screaming with tears, squeezing the pocket watch in my hand.

The teddy bear was covered in blood.

Pulling my coat tight around my waist, I hug myself with my head held low. Alone in the hallway of a church basement, I find that there is no saving me from the memories. They haunt my nights, but they cripple my days.

I want to be the girl I once was. The one who laughed and danced, who sang on a stage and gave wild toasts and ran outside in the rain just because. Yes, that was me. Once upon a time, I grinned and smiled and not because I forced it on my face to ease the worry of my loved one.

I don’t want to live like this any longer.

On wobbly legs, I stand and wipe under my eyes. What was supposed to be an experience to make me feel better actually makes me feel numb.

I’m not ready for this, so I start back down the dreary hallway to the exit.

“It’s like our dreams were shattered,” a voice says from somewhere in the distance.

My feet halt with a shriek.

Everything else fades away as those words repeat over and over in my head like a mantra that invades my headspace.

“It’s like our dreams were shattered.”

My body works on autopilot as my head swivels in the direction of the voice.

“We saved thirty thousand dollars to put down on a house,” the woman’s voice continues. “It’s been four years since Ryan passed, and I still can’t stop obsessing on the fact that we’ll never create a home together.”

Her words strike a chord within me … deep within me. It’s a song that plays on an instrument that’s sat unused in the basement of my soul, collecting dust.

My fingers brush against the harsh stone on the walls as I walk toward the open door.

Peeking inside, I see the people seated in a semicircle, looking toward the front where a red-haired girl speaks from her seat in the first row.

She has her hands tucked beneath her thighs as she says, “It’s silly, right?”

A woman with braids in chunky cornrows and a dark complexion speaks up, “Feelings are never to be dismissed. We all deal with grief in unique ways. While Ryan’s passing has been hard and you’ve made peace with that loss, you are still mourning the loss of the life you had. You had dreams and plans, and those are now being amended in a beautiful way.”

The girl nods. A guy seated next to her pulls her hand onto his lap and gives it a squeeze. He lovingly looks at her with a glassy-eyed expression and a slight rise of his cheeks, which seems odd since she’s here, mourning the loss of another man.

“Thank you, Lauren, for sharing,” the braided woman says in a gentle tone. Her eyes wander around the room, looking from face to face when they land on me.

Until now, I didn’t realize that I’d walked all the way into the room, and I am now standing just behind the second row of seats.

“Looks like we have a visitor.”