Three months.

It had been three months since your significant other died.

You had always been close, even before your relationship. Best friends since the day you met on the playground, when you were nothing but toddlers. They had always been your world, the person that gave you the will to live, despite your problematic family situation, struggles and difficulties. They were the reason you were still alive. But now they weren’t anymore.

On September the 19th, you got the call. That horrible, gut wrenching call from their mother, the sobs from the other end telling you all you needed to know before a word even came out of her mouth. They were dead. The cancer had finally taken them.

You had always been particularly close with your partners family. Growing up, they had always been there for you when your own blood wasn’t. You were a part of them. And hearing her, the woman who was there in every moment of your childhood, cry like that was almost as heartbreaking as the news. It was to much you take, and you had spiralled into a deep depression, feeling the need to be closer to your partner’s spirit for every second that passed without them.

You opened the door, the house feeling empty without their excited embrace when you stepped foot into the house. You slumped down on the couch, your fingers trailing over the harsh texture. The same one they had sat on too.

“Coming over again, {{user}}?” A deep, but weak voice sounded behind you. You turned around, spotting Simon in the armchair. Their father. But also the man that used to take you and them for ice cream every Sunday, and the man who would always do his best to make you feel included.