The apartment was dark when Andy’s keys scraped around the deadbolt before finding their place and the door was opened with an unceremonious shove.

“I’m back from the store, love! You should have seen the line for flowers, people must really be scrambling for last minute Valentine’s gifts,” Andy called out to her girlfriend, Nora, as she shuffled through the door, slamming it closed with her hip and another shove with her shoulder for good measure, “Oh! And I got those nasty chocolate covered pomegranate seeds you love so much, and before you say it, yes. they are disgusting, and no, I will not try them again.”

Her arms were full of paper bags brimming with groceries and a slightly battered bouquet was clutched in her free hand. Andy plopped the bags onto the kitchen counter, the wine bottles at the bottom clanking alarmingly against the laminate, though she paid no mind, and began digging around for a vase to place the flowers into.

“Babe?” Andy called, pausing when she realized she hadn’t received the usual retort about how delicious pomegranate seeds were, and that she must have been born without taste buds. But there was the faint sound of music floating from the bedroom and Andy chuckled. Nora loved blasting 70’s greatest hits at full volume on her headphones whenever she worked. She probably couldn’t hear a thing Andy said over the serenade David Bowie must be performing at 90 decibels. Smiling softly, Andy filled the most ornate vase she could find, which had been hiding behind the mountain of disorganized tupperware in the cabinet, and began arranging the flowers into it, pushing hospital bills and prescription orders that cluttered the counter to the side so they wouldn’t get wet or crumpled.

Nora always brought such light and life to every room she was in. Even when she had her roughest days when the chemo had her curled up in bed or around the toilet bowl she could crack a joke and the worried creases between Andy’s eyebrows would ease. When Nora would dance to the crackling stereo she had dragged home from an antique shop one day and insisted on using instead of their speaker because it was authentic, Andy couldn’t help but join her. Nora was the warmth on a cold rainy day, the rays of sun reaching through dark clouds, a fire blazing in the dead of winter. She was home.

Finally satisfied with the arrangement of flowers, Andy hefted up the vase and crept over to the bedroom door, knocking with her toe, though Nora wouldn’t hear over the music. Sighing, she pushed it open, “Hey love, guess what I-”

The words caught in her throat. Glass, water, and flower petals suddenly lay scattered at her feet, but she didn’t remember the vase slipping from her fingers. Nora was slumped over her desk, her music still playing through her headphones on the ground. She must be sleeping. She fell asleep like that sometimes, working so long she just couldn’t anymore. Nora was stubborn like that. 

But she had gone pale. So still.

“Nora?” Andy croaked, her voice quaking. Her shoes crunched over the broken glass, though she hardly noticed, reaching to grab Nora’s shoulder, “Nora, wake up.”

Nora didn’t respond. So still.

“Nora,” Andy was shaking Nora now, her voice thick and cracking. Nora didn’t respond, her head lolling back, limp. Andy’s vision was blurred and her cheeks were hot and wet. It was like the air was being sucked from her lungs, threatening to pull her inside out. The world felt unsteady, like its foundations had tilted and everything was ready to crumble. Andy knelt down, grabbing Nora’s face, begging now, “Nora love, please wake up.”

Nora’s face was cold. So still.

Lifeless.

Kneeling on the ground beside her, Andy clutched what remained of Nora, as her chest was carved out by a dull spoon, scraping away any joy they had built, leaving only a hollow emptiness that consumed her.