Unable to leave the perimeters of London, the newlyweds left the apartment to Weston’s parents and took a suite at the Four Seasons. Their wedding and rain dance was all over the news, but it didn’t matter in less than 48hours all would be erased.

“I can’t believe we’re married,” Tilda said, looking out the suite’s window.

“I can Mrs. Edmonds, I believe it, and I will marry you over and over again.”

They sat down to watch the news and laughed as they saw what the paparazzi and other photographers took.

They lazed about in the jacuzzi before regaining the bedroom.

“Have you ever had short hair?” Tilda asked as she towel-dried Weston’s hair.

“You don’t like them long?”

“No, it’s justㅡ.”

“I get your point you’ve seen them like this for an uncountable number of times. I promise I’ll cut them if you grow yours.”

“My hair is long; you know when straight.”

“Tilda,” Weston said, taking a severe tone, which made his wife stop what she was doing.

“Yes.”

“I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

Weston took her hands and lifted his head to see her expression.

“What is it, Weston?”

“Don’t come and watch, I want you to sit at home and when the moment comes, let go of me.”

Tilda shook her head, “no.”

“Tilda, listen, I regret, I wish I didn’t die and throw you into such despair, but we can’t change the past. We have to accept it. You have to allow yourself to accept it and stop torturing yourself; you can’t keep on hanging to this mirage.”

“Weston, I can’t. You’ll disappear.”

“Tilda, you don’t know, we don’t know what happens next, but we have to try everything. If this doesn’t work, try something else you must get out of here. So please, Tilda, I beg you, let me go.”

Tilda heaved as the tears welled up, it was their first night together as a married couple, but sorrow filled the suite.

The woman rolled herself up into a ball on the bed. Weston came to wrap his arms around her, “please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not; It’s just, it hurts,” Tilda replied while she wept.

“I know, I know.”

The next day drew them one step closer to the end; they returned to the apartment where they had lunch with Weston’s parents.

“Oh my goodness, you kids didn’t need to come back for us,” Alice said.

But the newlyweds both wanted to spend time with them and Thomas, who came to the wedding without Mary-Elizabeth. No one talked about his divorce; they spoke of other things.

Weston’s parents left a little after tea time, leaving the young couple to live their last night.

They talked all night about who and how they would want to be if they had another chance to live. From animals to celebrities, to the type of house they would have, and they talked about children.

“I don’t mind; I’d be happy with a son or a daughter.”

“Then we’ll have to have both,” Weston said, smiling as he tried to conceal the sorrow he still felt.

“Names?”

“Audric.”

Weston pinched Tilda’s nose, “I see your German side.”

“Bowie.”

“That’s rock’n’roll, maybe too much.”

“How about you, why do I have to find the names?”

“Em,- “Weston couldn’t resist his tongue tickled with the name he had in mind, “no, you won’t like it, and kids will probably make fun of him.”

“Tell me, what is it?”

“River,” Weston said with a hint of apprehension.

“It’s not common, but it’s nice,” Tilda said.

Without warning morning dawned, the couple hadn’t slept, and so with the rising sun, they closed their eyes.

When the time came, Tilda clung to the sheets has Weston got up to get ready. He took a shower, arranged the living room, and made sure not to wake her though he knew Tilda was wide awake.

Goodbyes would be too painful; this time, there would be none.

With the slamming door Tilda got up she went to the bathroom she took a shower where her tears mingled with the water. Thirty minutes later, Tilda got dressed and went to sit in the living room where she watched the clock’s tick-tocking.

Tilda told Weston how it happened every time three streets away from the house, and so Weston repeated the ritual. He bought a newspaper; then something caught his eye in a flower shop he went in and came back out with a bouquet of Globe Amaranth. They weren’t what you would usually pick for a woman, but there was something about this exotic flower that pleased him. Then came the crossing, there was no little girl, Weston walked to his fate without any fear. He stood in the middle, repeated, “do as you please,” in a few seconds, Weston was gone.

The clock struck 3:05 PM; it was the time the paramedics on site announced his death.

Tilda sat in front of the clock, whispering their vows again and again, only to blink at 3:05 PM.

When she opened her eyes Tilda expected to be holding a glass of champagne at the Lone Horizon bash instead in front of her stood a little boy he looked about five years old; he had light curly brown hair and hazel eyes. His complexion was slightly brighter than hers; what captivated Tilda was his gaze, which was a perfect copy of Weston’s.

“Who are you? How did you get inside? Where’s Weston?” Tilda asked, panicked by the change of scenario.

The little boy didn’t speak. Instead, he came to hug Tilda, making tears stream down her eyes.

He let go of her, and stretched out his hand, Tilda did not hesitate, she grabbed the boys hand and got up from the couch where he led her to the door.

“No, I can’t,” Tilda said.

“You have to everyone is waiting for you,” the little boy said.

“I’m scared; I can’t do this without Westㅡ.”

“Don’t be, accept it. Count 3.2.1.”

Tilda couldn’t explain how, but she trusted the little stranger, she thrust the door and turned to look at the boy.

“Will I see you again?”

“One day soon, mom.”

There was no time left for a reaction Tilda was consumed by the light which covered everything, drenching the apartment in an immaculate white before living space to the silence of oblivion.