What Remains of Me

I should have listened to my gut.

The house was way too quiet. That kind of quiet that doesn't feel peaceful-it feels wrong, like the calm before a storm. I remember tossing the dishrag on the counter and calling out, "Jason?" No answer. Not even the sound of splashes or giggles. Just silence.

At first, I wasn't worried. He'd probably gone back inside to grab his toy truck or that blue towel he liked dragging everywhere. But when I stepped outside and saw the gate to the pool wide open, I swear, my heart dropped straight into my stomach.

"Jason!" I screamed this time, louder, panic twisting my voice.

No answer.

And then I saw him.

Face down. Floating.

Everything after that felt like a blur. My legs were moving before I even knew what was happening. I jumped into the water, the chill biting into my skin, but I didn't care. I pulled him out, laid him on the ground, and started screaming his name, begging him to wake up.

He didn't.

I tried CPR. Over and over. My hands were shaking, tears blinding me, but I kept pressing on his chest, breathing into his tiny mouth, begging. Pleading.

"Come on, baby. Please. Mommy's here. Please wake up. Please..."

By the time we got to the hospital, the doctors had already stopped trying.

"Time of death: 3:47 PM."

That's when my world stopped.

My legs gave out under me right there in the hallway. I couldn't scream. I couldn't cry. Couldn't even breathe. Just this deafening silence in my head. Like the world kept moving but I stayed still.

My son was dead. My baby boy. Gone.

And the worst part? It was my idea to build the damn pool. Solace had argued. Said Jason was still too young, that we could wait a few years. But no-I insisted. I wanted him to grow up in a house that felt like summer, like joy. I had visions of pool parties and laughter. Not death.

I killed him.

That thought won't leave me alone.

I sat in the hospital corridor, drenched and trembling, my hands still stained with chlorine and guilt. People walked past me like I didn't exist. Nurses whispered. A mother sobbed in another room. But no one came for me. No one held me.

Not even Solace.

He wasn't there.

I had called him, again and again, but he didn't answer. He never answers anymore.

So I drove. Left my car parked in the emergency lane, left the keys inside, didn't care. I just ran. I needed to see him. I needed answers. I needed to fall into his arms and hear him say it wasn't my fault.

But instead, I got more silence.

And secrets.

I burst through the elevator doors of his office building, ignoring the receptionist calling after me. I wasn't in the mood to sit, to smile, to schedule an appointment. I just needed him.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there!" the assistant snapped, trying to hold me back.

But I'd already pushed past her. I didn't knock. I didn't pause.

I opened the door.

And I saw them.

My husband, Solace.

And her.

Her hands on his face, his lips on hers-his arms around her waist like they belonged there. Their kiss wasn't one of confusion or mistake. It was full. Deep. Familiar.

And it shattered whatever was left of me.

He didn't even see me at first.

I stood there, frozen in the doorway. My whole world collapsed a second time in less than an hour.

It was Cleo. I recognized her. She used to be a name from his stories-a "colleague" who texted a little too much, smiled a little too wide at family parties. I used to laugh it off. How stupid.

Cleo pulled away first, her eyes going wide as she saw me standing there.

"Ella," she whispered.

Solace turned. His mouth parted. He looked stunned, caught, but not sorry.

I didn't speak. I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I turned and walked out.

The hallway was blurry, or maybe it was just my tears. I couldn't feel my legs, couldn't feel the floor under me. I just kept walking. I didn't know where I was going, but anywhere was better than that room.

I ended up outside, somewhere near the back of the building, where nobody would see me fall apart.

I slumped to the ground and let the sobs take me.

Not soft, pretty tears-the kind that hurt. That crawls up from your chest and wrecks you from the inside out. I couldn't tell which pain was worse-losing Jason... or losing Solace the same day.

It was all too much.

I reached for my phone.

Missed calls but no messages. Just a wallpaper of Jason in his shark pajamas, grinning at the camera, arms outstretched like he was trying to hug me through the screen.

I broke.

"Why did you leave me?" I whispered. "Why did everyone leave me?"

The sky had darkened, but I didn't move. My clothes were still damp. My heart felt heavier than my whole body. It felt like a dream, the type you will want to wake up from quickly. Every part of my body became weak and I felt sick.

I thought of Vicky, my best friend. She had been calling all day, probably worried sick. But I didn't answer. I couldn't talk to anyone. Not now.

Not when the two people I loved most had vanished from me in the same breath.

I leaned my head back against the cold wall and stared at the sky.

I was alone.

Truly alone.

And somehow, I knew... this was only the beginning.

I don't know how I got home.

I must've driven, I must've parked, but nothing stuck. Not the road, not the city, not even the sound of traffic. My mind was a broken radio-white noise and a silent scream tangled somewhere deep in my chest.

I stood by the door for what felt like forever, keys trembling in my hand. The house was too quiet. It used to echo with Jason's laughter, his tiny feet thumping on the marble floor as he zoomed around pretending to be a superhero. Now... nothing.

I stepped inside, slowly, like the air itself was heavier.

The scent hit me first.

That baby powder smell he always carried on his skin, mixed with the faint strawberry shampoo I used on him. Still lingering. Still here. My legs wobbled, but I didn't fall. I just... stood there. Eyes dry but swollen. Heart heavy but somehow still beating.

I walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Just sat there, staring into nothing. My mind didn't run. It didn't even walk. It just hovered.

Jason was gone.

Gone.

My baby was gone.

And I didn't even get to say goodbye.

There were no wails from me. No sobs. My face was frozen. My hands clutched the hem of my shirt like it could hold me together. But inside... It was chaos. A loud, ugly chaos ripping my soul in half. I should've held him tighter that morning. I should've said something more than, "Go play, mummy's coming."

I shouldn't have gotten that damned pool.

I shouldn't have insisted.

The door creaked open.

I didn't even turn. I didn't have the energy. My ears caught the sound of shoes-the expensive kind-clicking gently on the tiles. Then silence.

He stood behind me.

Solace.

And the air got even heavier.

He said nothing at first, but I could feel his presence. I could feel the weight of his confusion. He probably thought I had followed him home because of what I saw at the office. The kiss. Him, lips tangled with Cleo's like we didn't just lose our child hours ago.

He finally spoke. His voice was soft... fake-soft. Like that would fix anything.

"Ella," he said. "I didn't expect you here. I wanted to come find you after work, I swear, I-"

I didn't respond.

He walked around the couch slowly, unsure, nervous even. His eyes were red. Maybe from guilt. Maybe from panic. Maybe from nothing at all.

"I know what you saw," he began again, voice shaking just enough. "And I'm sorry. I know I messed up. But things haven't been easy between us, you know? Ever since Jason was born, you just... changed."

That was when I lifted my eyes to meet him.

That was when I smirked.

A bitter, hollow kind of smirk that stretched my lips but didn't reach my soul.

I said nothing at first. Just watched him fidget with the hem of his shirt, the way he always did when he was trying to talk his way out of something. Liar. Smooth-talking liar.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, more defensive now. "But you have to admit, you haven't been present either. Everything was about Jason. You barely looked at me anymore. I made a mistake, okay? It just-happened."

I tilted my head slightly.

"Oh," I said quietly. "You think I'm here because of that kiss?"

He frowned.

"What else could it be?"

I let the silence hang. Then I rose to my feet slowly and walked past him-like he wasn't even there. I moved like a ghost. My legs floated toward the dining table where Jason's drawings still lay. Crayons scattered across the surface. His little superhero sketch in the middle. The one he said was "Daddy saving the world."

I picked it up.

I looked at it like it was a holy relic.

Then I whispered, "Jason is gone."

The words fell like ice cubes.

Solace blinked.

"Gone to where?"

I looked up at him.

His face was confused, a nervous smile forming on his lips-like I was joking. Like this was just another passive-aggressive jab I was throwing his way.

I shook my head.

"No," I said, my voice cracking. "He's gone, Solace. Our son is dead."

I watched the color drain from his face.

He stepped back a little. "What... what do you mean?"

I turned to him fully now, still holding Jason's drawing, still shaking.

"He drowned," I said quietly. "In the pool. In the pool I wanted so badly. I took my eyes off him for just a second and... I thought he was inside. I didn't even hear him fall in."

Solace opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"He was lying there... floating," I went on, voice barely a whisper. "His skin was blue. His lips. His fingers. Everything. I pulled him out, I screamed. I tried CPR. I begged him. I begged him to come back..."

Tears finally found their way to my cheeks, slow and steady.

"He was so cold," I said. "My baby was so cold."

Solace moved toward me, maybe to hold me. Maybe to say something comforting. But I flinched.

"Don't," I said firmly, backing away. "Don't touch me. Don't even breathe near me."

He looked helpless now. Like the ground was slipping from under his feet.

I turned away and walked toward the cabinet where I kept Jason's hospital file. I picked it up. Flipped through the pages. His birth certificate. His vaccination card. His growth chart. All the moments. All the milestones. All of them, gone.

"This was our son," I said, voice trembling. "This was the boy you abandoned emotionally the second things got hard. The same boy I carried for nine months while you buried yourself in work and excuses."

"Ella, please..."

"No!" I snapped. "Don't you dare say my name like you care. You lost the right when you kissed another woman while our son's body was still warm in the morgue."

Solace was crying now. But I didn't care. I couldn't. Something in me had snapped and there was no going back.

He tried to speak. I shut him down with a glare.

And then silence again.

Heavy. Suffocating.

I walked past him. Headed straight to the bedroom. My hands moved like they had a purpose-folding clothes, tossing toiletries into a bag. Everything mechanical. Emotionless.

"Ella, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice desperate now.

"I'm leaving," I replied simply. "I can't stay here. Not in this house. Not with you."

He tried to block my path. I pushed past him.

"You don't get to ask questions," I said. "You don't get to beg. You made your choices. Now I'm making mine."

I walked to the door, bag slung over my shoulder, heart pounding like a war drum.

Just before I stepped out, I turned back one last time.

"Goodbye, Solace."

And with that, I walked into the night.

My best friend Vicky was all I had left.

After walking out of my house that night-my home, once filled with Jason's laughter, now poisoned by Solace's betrayal-I had nowhere else to go. I could have checked into a hotel, but I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. Not then. Not with my son's pictures still flashing through my mind and the taste of Solace and Cleo's kiss still burning on my tongue.

So, I went to Vicky's.

She opened the door without hesitation. No questions. No judgement. Just arms. Warm, open arms that wrapped around me like I wasn't the broken shell of myself. And for a moment, just a brief second, I let myself believe I was safe.

"I don't even know what I'm doing," I said, my voice barely making it past my throat.

Vicky stroked my back as we sat on her couch that night, her apartment dim and quiet, smelling of lavender and red wine. "You don't have to know what you're doing," she whispered. "You just have to breathe. One breath at a time, El."

I cried on her shoulder until I slept off, and when I woke the next morning, she had already made tea. Mint and ginger. My favorite. Like she remembered every little thing.

That morning, she told me about a facility she went to after her brother died. A retreat, she called it. More than therapy, less than a hospital. Just a quiet place outside the city where broken people go to gather what's left of themselves.

"I know it sounds dramatic," she said, squeezing lemon into her mug. "But it really helped me. And I think it could help you too."

I didn't know if I wanted help. Honestly, I didn't even know if I deserved it. But something about the way she looked at me-like I was worth saving-made me say yes.

I left two days later.

It was a quiet place-trees taller than rooftops, soft gravel roads, early morning birds that sounded like lullabies. I didn't take my phone. I didn't want Solace to reach me, not that he would. I didn't want reminders. I just wanted to disappear into something that felt like peace.

The first few days were hard. Everything they asked us to do felt ridiculous. Group circles. Journaling. Talking to strangers about feelings I barely admitted to myself. But Vicky was right. Something started to shift after the first week.

I began to sleep again. Eat again. I even laughed once when a woman named Mel tripped during morning yoga and blamed the mat for having "trust issues."

I started writing letters-ones I never planned to send. To Jason. To myself. Even one to Solace. I wrote about the pain, the guilt, the way I still smelled chlorine on my skin even though the pool had been drained and covered. I wrote about how I wished time would freeze so I could stay in a world where Jason still existed.

Somewhere between week two and three, I woke up with a different kind of ache in my chest. Not just the kind that mourned. This one longed. Longed for closure. For a conversation. For the truth. Maybe even for forgiveness.

I told the therapists I needed a break-a short visit home to see Solace. They gave me a pass.

I don't even know what I expected. Maybe for him to break down in my arms. Maybe for us to cry together. Or maybe I just wanted to say goodbye properly. But I remember what I wore that day-a soft cream dress Jason picked out for my birthday two years ago. I remember the butterflies. The kind that made me feel like I was doing something brave.

I knocked twice on the door of the home we used to share.

There was a pause. Then shuffling. I stepped back, staring at the potted plant Jason and I once named "Fred." It was dying. Just like everything else.

Then the door opened.

And there she was.

Vicky.

In a robe.

Her hair messy, her eyes sleepy. My mouth went dry.

"Ella?" she said, like she'd seen a ghost.

I couldn't speak. I just stood there, eyes flicking past her shoulder. I didn't even have to ask.

Solace's voice floated from inside. "Babe, who's at the door?"

I think my heart actually stopped.

He stepped into view slowly, like the devil himself realized judgment day had come early.

I stared at them-at the two people who swore they were my safe places. At the woman who told me she'd blocked him, who cried with me on her couch, who sent me off to therapy like she cared. And him... the man who replaced our dead son's memory with a string of bodies.

Neither of them said a word.

The robe said enough.

My hands trembled as I stepped back.

"So this is it?" I whispered. "This is what support looks like?"

Vicky opened her mouth, probably to lie.

"Don't," I snapped. "Just don't."

I turned to leave, but then I stopped. My hands clenched into fists at my side.

"You told me you blocked him. You told me-" my voice cracked, the betrayal sinking deeper than anything I'd ever felt. "You told me to go fix myself while you warmed his bed."

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back.

"I lost my son, Vicky. My son. And I came to you because you were the only friend I had left. You held me while I broke. And now... this?"

She tried to say something again.

"No," I said. "We're done. Both of you."

And with that, I walked away.

I didn't cry.

Not yet.

But something inside me closed that day. Something that will never open again.