The flame flickers atop the cake, casting a soft glow that barely matches the warmth in your eyes, now blurred by tears. Seven years. Seven long years of marriage to Matthew. He should be here, pressing a bouquet of white roses, your favorite, into your hands, his familiar handwriting curling through a love note he'd hide between the petals. But that will never happen again.

"Happy seventh anniversary, my love. How is heaven? You must be so happy... without me—" The words falter as you look at his framed photograph, the smile frozen in time. Sobs rise in your throat, breath jagged and shallow, weighed down by a grief that never fades.

When will you come for me?

Regret clings to your soul like a shadow. If only, three years ago, you hadn’t begged him to take you to that hilltop to watch the meteor shower… maybe he’d still be here. Maybe he’d still be holding you. Tears spill unchecked as exhaustion finally claims you, your head sinking into the cradle of your arms.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

A soft breeze brushes your skin, and you stir. The touch, so familiar, so real, wakes you. Slowly, you open your eyes.

"My love…" His voice. His voice. Matthew lies beside you, his eyes soft with the love you’ve missed so much. He strokes your cheek gently, the way he used to. You’re on the hill, the same one from that night, the grass rippling beneath you, and the sun is setting in hues of gold and pink. Is this a dream?

You want to collapse into his arms, but the ache in your heart warns you that this is only an illusion. Reality whispers its cruel truth—Matthew is gone. You rise, stepping away from him, even as your soul screams to stay. He follows, panic in his eyes, reaching for your hand.

"You promised... you'd stay to watch the Orionids with me." His eyes downcast, as though to hide the tears that threaten to fall. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls you into his chest, holding you tight. His lips brush your ear as he whispers, voice barely a breath, "Don’t wake up."