Candles were miraculous things.

They could shine for hope, for beauty. They could be erotic. They could pierce the darkness with their light.

They could be symbols of death.

Sam's eyes went astray, turning the flickering flames into luminous orbs of sketchy light, like overexposed pixels dancing in shades of yellow. The flames came into focus again and fear grabbed on to him for the second it took to force his vision to blur again.

He could do it, keep it together, as longs as he focused on the lights, as long as he couldn't see. But it wouldn't last long. The blur turned back into flames that cut through the darkest in the room, throwing shadows over the mahogany wood.

Over the casket.

It looked so big and intimidating, even if it held the most delicate of beings.

It was closed. He didn't have to see, not even if his eyes drifted to it without meaning to, with morbid fascination. But he couldn't avoid the picture on top of it, not when her face was all he longed to take in just one more time.

Shining blue eyes, an entrancing smile filled with happiness, the life and the passion etched into every feature, her golden hair framing everything like a halo.

A claw sunk into his chest, piercing his heart, making it impossible to live, breathe. Blood smothered him, sent the pounding thumps into his ears, blocked out all sounds of life and happiness.

And as always, it was her words that saved him.

I've taught you how to handle pain, how to turn it into strength. And this time, I'm sorry to say, you don't have the luxury to wallow in self-pity.

If you want to cry, cry, but do it at the funeral and be done with it.

She was right. She had taught him how to handle pain. And yet, nothing in the world could have prepared him for this.

Cry and be done with it. But there were no tears, it just felt like they were flowing on the inside, drowning him, making it impossible to look beyond the candles, the coffin.

Yes, it hurts, but it could've been worse. We could've never met. We could've never known happiness like we have this past year.

Then, be grateful. Grateful that we met, grateful that we fell in love, grateful that we had Sammy.

The words written in her beautiful cursive danced in front of his eyes, forced him to focus on her smiling face again. She was right. He had Sammy now and he couldn't break down, couldn't retreat inside himself, because his baby needed him.

Babies pick up on mood very fast.

She'd anticipated everything, tried to cover it in the final two weeks of her life, turning them into a continuous therapy session while he refused to accept the inevitable truth.

That Skye, his Skye, was dying.

It couldn't be real. Not when just hours before, she'd been feeding their daughter, laughing at his clumsiness in handling a diaper bag. Then, all of a sudden, she was vomiting blood and had to be committed to the hospital.

For two whole weeks, he'd known nothing else. Just her, and the occasional visits from Sammy.

There was no explanation for why her organ systems were failing one after the other, why she was dying even if she seemed okay, was talking, breathing and eating on her own.

And then, as sudden as it had begun, it ended.

She'd died just like she'd lived. Strong and confident, looking out for the wellbeing of others. His.

He hadn't even registered the explanations properly, but got the gist. A parasite lodged in her fat cells which remained dormant until she started losing weight after the pregnancy.

The reason didn't matter. All that mattered was that it happened, that he was now looking at her coffin, and she'd left him to care for their three-month-old daughter.

He would cry at the funeral, get it out of his system, and then focused on the little human who required his full attention.

Except, the funeral was here and he felt like he was crying on the inside, drowning in his own tears, in his own blood, because as much as she'd tried, nothing could prepare him for this.

"Sam."

The voice of his twin had Sam finally turning away from his dead wife. Tom charged into the tiny room, his hair a little longer, his stubble almost a full beard, and caught him in a bone-crushing hug.

It felt good, right. Sam hugged him back, suddenly returning to the memories of the dark catacombs of Paris. The past was liberating, a world in which Skye and the agony of her demise didn't exist.

But it wouldn't last. He couldn't run away and lose himself in memories. That didn't mean he couldn't appreciate his twin being there.

It felt like a part of him was healing as Tom took upon himself the brunt of the tiny amount of feelings they shared. He knew, understood better than anyone, because even if he hadn't even been married, he now knew what it felt like to lose a wife. And it was easier to bear once it was shared.

The claw around Sam's heart loosened, and even if the pointy tips still dug in, hemorrhaging blood, the small respite felt like relief.

"Are you--?" Tom faltered, realizing the question was meaningless, and pulled away, his gaze traveling from the coffin to the picture placed on top of it. "This is so--"

"Fucked?" Sam asked. His voice came out croaky from lack of use.

"I didn't want to be the one who said it, but yeah."

Sam appreciated that Tom wasn't asking what happened. He'd only said it once and Kyle and Jerry had taken it from there, made sure to spread the news to the appropriate people. Sam had only focused on arranging everything for the funeral and letting his in-laws know.

Tom glanced around the room, his teal eyes watery and Sam envied him. Apparently Tom could cry for Skye. Why couldn't he? Why wouldn't tears fall when he desperately needed them to? Had he consumed them all the moment she'd died in his arms?

"Why did you come?" he asked, more to distract himself than anything.

Tom whipped around to face him. "What do you mean? How could I not come in a moment like this?"

Easily. It wasn't like Skye would know or not understand. Tom had been on a mission, chasing Angie, trying to figure out if there was a chance for them to still be together.

"But what about Angie?"

"Fu--." Tom bit his lips and there was obvious pain in his voice. "You were right, Sam. Some things are more important, and this is one of them. She will and should never stand in the way if you need me. And you do."

Sam just nodded, aware he did, wishing he didn't. Aware Tom had willingly given up Angie. But life was like that sometimes.

I know this will be torture for a while, but just like everything in this life, it will get better. And this time, you already have a reason to smile.

He did. And it wasn't only about Sammy, but everything she'd brought into his life, everything he'd learned about himself after his life went completely to shit.

"I wish there was something I could do, or say," Tom mumbled. "I wish I were here."

"That's okay."

"No, it's not." Tom put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "I got carried away, thought all I wanted was freedom. Her. But the truth is, I don't. All my life I've wanted a family, and then I went and abandoned it."

"You didn't abandon us, Tom."

"Yes, I did. I took the easy road, just like her, and that will never happen again."

Sam watched him, took in the serious look on his twin's face. Until two weeks ago, he'd thought he was the one taking the easy road. Having a wonderful family, being fully happy while the others struggled on some level.

"We're all struggling," he said, as the realization hit him.

Tom nodded. "And we most likely always will. We were born with a poisonous spoon up our butts."

Sam huffed and turned back to the coffin. It felt good not to be alone, but it was also weird because it undermined Skye's death somehow. Like him still finding things funny was an affront to her memory. She'd surely hit him upside the head for the thought. If it were anyone else, she'd be the first one laughing at the funeral.

"She was amazing," Tom whispered, as if reading his mind.

"That she was."

"Will you be okay?"

"She actually did a fabulous job with me. Before and during the time we spent in the hospital." He took in a deep breath, trying to ready himself to return to the living. "She said one thing that really stuck with me. People die. But we were happy. And there's no reason for me not to accept that and be happy for the time we had. Will I miss her? Incredibly. But I still have a little piece of her to take care of."

Tom bit his lip, tears filling his eyes, but they didn't slide down his cheeks. "She's right, you know. She was happy her entire time with you. And now, she's safe, at peace, watching you and Sammy. It's us we should feel sorry for."

"I refuse to feel sorry for myself. Especially when I have Sammy. "

"That's a great tactic, you know."

"It's not a tactic. It's how I really feel." It was almost fully true. If only he wouldn't miss Skye so damn much, wouldn't wish he were in that wooden box instead of her.

"I'm happy for you, then." Tom's smile hinted at how tired he actually was after what was maybe a long journey.

Sam knew there were things he had to ask, information he needed in order to make sure his twin was fine, but he couldn't handle it now. He could only appreciate the sacrifice, him being there when he didn't have to. Because he'd meant it. This funeral wasn't something that needed to disrupt everyone's lives.

He'd had this conversation before with Jessie, assuring her she didn't have to fly over from California for this. Being with Jimmy was more important and he already had people holding down the fort, making him feel better.

It was what it was, and he would face it and make the best of it. Because that was what Skye had taught him and he'd be damned if he didn't make her proud in every possible way.

"I'll wait outside," Tom said.

Sam just nodded and returned his attention to the picture of Skye. Every time he looked at her, a little piece of him seemed to be dying. He gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath, repeating what had become his mantra.

I mustn't break down.

Sammy needs me.

We were happy so there's no reason to cry.

There's no guarantee for the future. It could be wonderful.

I can cry when this is over.

Then I will smile again. Find love again.

This is just another lesson for me to learn.

I will live this life for both of us.

And that he would. Make her proud. Become the man she wanted him to be. A better, stronger self.

Tears filled his eyes, bringing with them a sense of relief. "I miss you so much," he whispered. And even if he was just twenty-two, he knew that on some level, he always would.

"Sam?"

The voice had the hairs on the back of his neck standing and his fists clenching. He hadn't heard it in about a year, and when they'd last spoken, they'd been okay.

But right now, all it evoked was bad blood, misery and a deep seeded hatred. Because she was alive and well while Skye was dead. And it just wasn't fair.

"Can I come in?" she tried again, her voice trembling the slightest bit.

 I have this feeling that Christine might come for you. If she does, don't push her away on principle. 

Skye had anticipated everything. And even if while first reading the letter, Sam didn't find anything glaring about this statement, it now made him sick. Why was Christine there now?

"Came to gloat?" he growled.

"No, of course not." She sounded scared, her voice higher and a little shaky. If he would turn around, he'd probably see her eyes filled with tears.

"Then why are you here?"

"I... I wanted to be by your side. Thought you might need it."

He whipped around, his vision painted in shades of red. She stood in the doorway, not daring to step inside without his permission. There was nothing different about her. The same perfect chocolate brown hair, almond shaped amber eyes, her pink lips in a bit of a pout.

She was still tall, lean and beautiful, wearing black skinny jeans, rocker boots and a simple black sweater. Maybe there was something different in the way she carried herself, with less entitlement and a bit more confidence, but he didn't care enough to analyze it.

"Need what, Christine? You? She just died, for Christ's sake! Did you think I'd be all over you?"

He was lashing out and he knew it. This wasn't Christine's fault. Maybe she wasn't even there for romantic reasons. Maybe she just wanted to be a friend. But he couldn't handle it, couldn't be fair, not when his misery had finally found an outlet.

"Please, just go." He forced his voice to be low and reasonable. Before I yell at you some more for no reason.

"I will," she whispered. "But that's not why I came, okay? It was just because I thought..." She faltered, watching him with something that looked like both pity and longing and it made him want to throw up.

Fortunately, she gave up on explaining her unwanted presence and walked out of the small room. Once her figure disappeared, Sam could breathe again, even if it was ragged. Everything was happening too fast and he needed this to be over.

🏯

Everything was a blur, just like Skye's hospitalization and death. One moment he was standing in the tiny room with the coffin, the next, they were out in the chapel and the ceremony was under way, over before Sam could catch a single sentence.

All he could think about was Skye, her tired smile as she tried to prepare him for everything.

"The funeral is going to be tough. Probably boring as hell."

Sam blinked once, then laid his head back on her shoulder. "Why do we have to talk about this?"

"Because it will happen and you'll most likely have to say something."

He shook his head into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. "I'm dumb. I can't say anything coherent."

She let out a laugh. "You're not a perfect prince and there are a lot of negatives I could use to describe you, but dumb is not one of them."

"I don't want this. I don't want a funeral. I don't want you to die."

She snaked her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. "This is not about wanting, Sam. It's about what will happen and what we have to do."

He cringed. She was right and if she could face it, so could he. "Okay then. What would you like me to say?"

"Be short and to the point. No one wants a dragged out funeral. Open with a joke or something."

"That's not funny."

"Life is funny, Snowflake." She poked his nose. "Keep it short and simple."

And just like that, he found himself looking down at family and friends, thinking about her and her last words. Life was funny, but not necessarily in a humorous way.

His eyes drifted from the mournful faces to the painted windows of the chapel. It was raining outside, a cold November rain that chilled to the bone. He wasn't sure when and where, but he'd read that if it rained at someone's funeral, it meant they were sorry to go.

Of course Skye was sorry. He was still here, half a mess of a man, and her daughter was right there, in her mother's arms, sleeping like an angel.

Angels... His eyes went astray as another image returned vividly. It had been raining that night as well.

Sam entered the hospital room to find Skye standing next to the floor-to-ceiling window, her back to him, dressed not in her hospital gown, but in her blue jeans and light pink sweater. The clothes clung off her much skinnier frame. There were no IVs or needles anyway near her.

"What are you doing?" He dropped the bag of doughnuts and hurried to her.

She turned her head and smiled over her shoulder. "Hey. I asked them to let me out of bed."

"Why?" He reached her and she immediately leaned her back against his chest, as if she'd been waiting for him to hold her up all this time.

"This is it, Sam. I didn't want to go lying on a hospital bed."

"Skye, you're not going anywhere."

"Shush, Snowflake. No amount of your adorable stubbornness will fix this."

He could see her reflection in the window, the small smile on her face as she took in the city lights with wonder.

"I said goodbye to Sammy," she said after what felt like an eternity. "And now it's time that I do the same to you. I wrote you a letter." She nodded towards the nightstand. "You can read it when this is over."

His eyes instantly filled with tears and he shook his head. Skye turned in his arms and took his face in her hands. He couldn't do this, couldn't accept that she was letting go, that this was it.

"You are an amazing man, and you've brought more joy into my life than you can possibly imagine. The challenge, the adventure, the love... Sammy." Her hold on him tightened, but there were no tears in her eyes. "I love you, Sam. And I always will." She placed her hand on his chest. "I'll always be here."

He shook his head some more, fighting not to burst out into full-blown crying. "No, don't do this."

"You know that's not up to me."

Yes, he knew. It was just what it was. No blame, no divine retribution. Just life and he had to learn to accept it.

"I love you, too, and I always will," he said, his voice drowning in tears.

Her smile was like heaven. "I know you will." And she rose on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

He kissed her back, putting everything into it, wanting her to be sure that she was everything to him and that he would never forget her. But it couldn't last enough, so when she pulled back smiling, he felt like he was breaking into pieces. She was looking through him.

"I want to see the lights," she whispered, her voice so tired, even if the smile was still there.

He complied and turned her around, wrapping his arms around her, holding her up. While she took in the city skyline, blurred by the pouring November rain, her face calm and her lips upturned the tiniest bit, he focused on her. How she fit against him, how she smelled like the perfume he'd grown to love, how she seemed to shine brighter than all the lights in the world.

And as he watched her reflection, he could swear she had a halo, that he could see her wings spreading, white like those of a dove. Every feather was perfect and the arch of the wings was fascinating. He couldn't be imagining it. It was too much for him to come up with. But his Skye, his angel, had finally gotten her wings, and once she flapped them and shot to the skies, it was over.

Her body fell heavy into his arms and her eyes closed, even if the peaceful smile still graced her face. He fell to his knees and hugged her against him, letting out the screaming, the tears, but nothing could bring her back.

She'd flown away.

The silence had lasted too long and the crowd began to shift. Sam took his eyes away from a painted angel and focused on the matter at hand.

"Skye was an angel," he said, his voice strong and clear. "An amazing woman dedicated to bettering herself and others. A loving wife and a terrific mother. And she will always be in our hearts. In mine. Part of my life and the mother of my child." His voice cracked and he wished she were there with him, even if just to tell him he was being a dork. "But she's gone, and that's something we must all learn how to deal with. Especially me."

He turned to the coffin and the smiling picture on top of it. That was how he wanted to remember her, and he didn't see why he shouldn't.

"Goodbye, Skye. You were my everything."

And with that, he stepped down and walked towards the exit. He nodded at his brothers and gave the baby's hand a tiny squeeze.

It was almost over and he would soon take her home and start their new life. But until then, he had one final step to face.

Lay Skye to rest in the ground.

🏯🏯🏯

Welcome everyone! I know you hate me right now but... It's my birthday? Yay?

This first chapter should make something clear about this book. Anything can happen. It will be shocking, it will be random. It will be entertaining, I hope.

So be prepared for one hell of a ride!

Also, yeah... How do you feel about this? And what on earth is going to happen now? Stay tuned while I break hearts some more.