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No! I don’t want to hear this!

I stopped listening.

I couldn’t deal with this.

Panic constricted my throat and my breathing shallowed.

I’m coming between them. This isn’t fair.

It’s not fair on Dylan. Or Lulu.

Hastily, I turned around and bolted back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Dashing into the spare bedroom, I threw myself on the bed, and before I could halt them, scalding tears started coursing down my face.

Oh no.

I’d been so, so good at restraining my grief for the past few weeks, but now my tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks.

Dylan and Lulu were arguing because of me. Here I was, messing up his orderly life, and I couldn’t bear it. Curling into a small, round ball, I thought if I made myself small enough, the disemboweling pain would shrink too.

Please, please take this pain away.

I’d stuffed the T-shirt I used as a nightdress under my pillow this morning. It was one of my father’s favorites—The Killers, an old band from the early 2000s. I held it against my face hoping to catch his lingering scent as I sobbed uncontrollably. I wanted my mother. I wanted her to hold me, to kiss my hair and tell me she loved me like she used to when I was upset. I wanted her to take the pain away. I missed her so much. Her voice, her smile, her laugh, even her angry shouting.

Mum… Mum… Mummy.

Her absence was unbearable.

Knowing she would never, ever comfort me again was crippling.

Mummy.

I wept into the pillow, my mouth open in a silent, tortured howl. Even in the depths of my despair, I had to be quiet.

Stay polite.

I didn’t want Dylan to see me like this. I didn’t want him to hear me.

My grief was private.

Mine and only mine.

Mummy. I miss you.

If I slept for six months, then maybe I would feel better when I woke. Maybe I might feel something other than this mutilating loss.

My new familiar mantra crashed through my head like a tidal wave: I should be with them. I should be with them. I should be with them. I should be…

When I opened my eyes, bright sunshine flooded the room, bouncing off the walls and into the backs of my eyeballs. Wincing, I screwed my eyes shut. It was morning, early morning, and like an idiot I hadn’t closed the shutters last night. Feeling drained, cloudy, and unfocused, I turned over. My head throbbed from too much crying and my mouth was parched. I tried to corral my thoughts. I was still dressed in Dylan’s grimy shirt from yesterday.

Oh yes, the painting. The new room.

Oh no. My family… They’re gone.

I gasped as their loss ripped through me again.

Cautiously, opening one eye, I peered at the photograph on my bedside table. My family. All of us laughing. Happy.

Those days were gone. But the sight of them soothed me.