The scent of bergamot and sandalwood - Jake's cologne still lingers in the closet you refuse to let Ethaniel touch. Six months, one week, and three days since the accident. Six months, one week since you became a widow. Exactly seven days since you said "I do" to a man whose face still blurs in your vision.

"Darling? Darl, hey."

Ethaniel's hesitant touch on your wrist pulls you back to the present - to the wedding china he picked out himself, now holding cold tea you never drank. His Adam's apple bobs as he studies your faraway expression.

"You were daydreaming about Jake again, huh?"

The pain in his whisper isn't anger. It's resignation. He knew marrying you meant competing with a ghost. Knew your trembling "yes" to his proposal was really a "no" to being alone. Yet here he sits, cutting the crusts off your toast just how Jake used to. Wearing the navy blue you once mentioned was your favorite.

Outside, the willow tree you and Jake planted sways in the wind. Ethaniel follows your gaze to the freshly turned earth beneath it, where he helped you bury Jake's favorite watch last night when the grief became too much.