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“Have you been going to work?” I don’t need to ask her how she is; I can see how much she’s struggling.

She nods against my chest, her grip tightening around me. She’s holding on to me like I’m her lifeline.

“And uni?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

I close my eyes, aching for her. She’s carrying her grief, keeping up with work, dragging herself to classes, and somehow still trying to hold everything together.

It’s in this moment that my mind is made up. I’m paying off that fucking mortgage, whether she wants me to or not. She already has enough weight on her shoulders. She doesn’t need to spend another second worrying about losing the home she shared with her Nanna, the home her grandfather built with his own two hands.

“Can I travel in the funeral car with you?” I ask.

“Please,” is her only reply.

I knew this day would be sad, but I didn’t think it would hurt this goddamn much.

Poppy has been an absolute champ and so fucking brave. Despite being unable to hold back her tears throughout the service, she somehow managed to deliver a beautiful, heartfelt eulogy, paying tribute to the woman who shaped her into who she is today. Every word was spoken with so much love that there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Watching her stand there, heartbroken yet unwavering, only made me admire her more.

For me, the burial is the hardest part; I always struggled with it the most. Watching the coffin being lowered into the ground feels so unbearably final. It’s when hope forces you to give way to acceptance.

A multitude of people showed up to say their goodbyes to a woman who touched so many hearts in her lifetime, including mine.

And afterwards, when all was said and done, we all crammed into Poppy’s grandparents’ home for the wake. It was nothing fancy, just platters of sandwiches Poppy had made the night before, trays of freshly cut fruit, and store-bought cakes spread across the dining table.

Seeing how much care she’d put into making everyone else feel welcome only deepened the guilt I’d been carrying. I stayed away because I thought I was doing the right thing. But standing here, surrounded by the people she’d brought together to celebrate her grandmother’s life, I couldn’t help wondering if all I’d really done was leave her to handle everything on her own.

The worst part is, she doesn’t even own a car, for fuck’s sake. Did she really carry all those groceries home on the bus? The thought twists something deep in my chest. While I’d been convincing myself I was respecting her space, she’d been dealing with so much more than her own grief.

By the time the last guests leave, Poppy looks dead on her feet.

“Why don’t you go and relax? I’ll make you a cup of tea and clean up.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she says over a yawn.

“Good thing you didn’t ask, then,” I counter. “Have you even slept these past few days?” She gives a small shrug, her eyes dropping to the floor. That’s answer enough. “Come on.” I rest a hand lightly against the small of her back, guiding her towards the couch. “Go and sit down. It’s no longer a suggestion, it’s an order.”

She lets out the faintest huff, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she sinks onto the couch with a weary sigh, her whole body seeming to sag under the weight of the last week. “Okay, but not for long.”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her. “Tea first. Then you can tell me where everything goes.”

By the time the kettle boils, I glance back into the living room and find Poppy curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep.

From here, I can see her skirt has ridden up a fraction, revealing a few more inches of her long legs, encased in smooth, black stockings. I inwardly groan when I catch myself wondering what she’s wearing beneath her clothes. Not in passing, either. I genuinely want to know, and I have no idea where that thought came from.

I may be a red-blooded male, and there’s no denying she’s fucking gorgeous, but given the circumstances and the reason I’m here, it feels wildly inappropriate.

I move quietly towards her and slip off her black high heels. I reach for the throw blanket from the armrest and gently cover her with it. When I’m done, I find myself standing here for far too long, staring down at her like some kind of creep.

It’s crazy how much this woman has come to mean to me in such a short span of time. The strength it’s taken her to keep going leaves me in awe.

Forcing myself to move, I slip out of my suit jacket, drape it over a dining room chair, loosen my tie, pop the top button of my dress shirt, and remove my cufflinks, tucking them into my trouser pocket.

As I walk towards the sink, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows, plug the drain, add detergent, and turn on the taps.

At home, I have a cleaner who handles all the domestic duties simply because I rarely have the time.

But tonight is different. Tonight, Poppy doesn’t need someone to make things easier. She needs someone to show up. Someone willing to shoulder a little of the weight she’s been carrying and remind her she doesn’t have to do everything alone.