The Love From Vengeance

183: SPIRIT CRUSHED

ARIEL’S POV

1 stood outside on the porch, my back against the rough wooden railing, staring out into the darkness of the night. The cool breeze brushed against my tear streaked face, the only comfort I could find in the midst of my overwhelming grief. The stars above seemed to mock me with their twinkling indifference, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me.

My little son, Lukel, had been the light of my life; his laughter was a melody that had filled our home with joy and warmth. But now he was gone, taken from me in a cruel twist of fate that I couldn’t begin to comprehend. The pain in my chest was like a physical weight, crushing my spirit and leaving me gasping for air.

As I closed my eyes, memories of Lukel flooded my mind–his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement as he played in the backyard, his tiny hands reaching out to me for comfort, his sweet voice calling out “Mommy” with such pure love that it had brought tears to my eyes. How could he be gone? How could I go on without him?

A sob escaped my lips; the sound was raw and full of anguish. I clutched at my chest as if trying to hold myself together, but the grief was an all–consuming tide that threatened to sweep me away. The world around me seemed to blur, the familiar sights and sounds of our home fading into an indistinct

haze.

In the distance, a dog barked, its lonely cry echoing through the night. My heart clenched at the sound, a sharp pang of longing piercing through my sorrow. Lukel, who loved dogs, had begged me. for one of his own with such earnestness that I had almost relented. Now, the thought of a playful puppy bounding around the yard seemed like a cruel joke, a reminder of all the dreams and plans that would never come to pass.

I sank to my knees, the rough wood of the porch digging into my skin, but I hardly felt the pain. My grief was a relentless force, dragging me down into the depths of despair. The tears flowed freely now, a silent cascade of sorrow that seemed to have no end.

it

And yet, through the haze of my anguish, a faint glimmer of hope flickered in the darkness. Somewhere deep within me, a voice whispered that Lukel was still with me and that his love would never truly leave my side. It was a fragile thread of comfort, but in that moment of crushing grief, was all I had to hold on to. With a shuddering breath, I closed my eyes and let myself surrender to the pain, knowing that only by facing it head–on could I hope to find a way through to the other side.

kneeling there on the porch, my heart heavy with grief, memories of Lukel continued to flood my mind like a torrential downpour. I recalled the way he would throw his arms around my neck, his embrace filled with a warmth that could chase away any shadow of doubt or

ache in my chest deepened as I replayed the moments we had shared–the bedtime stories read with such enthusiasm, the scraped

like a hole in my very being, a void that nothing could fill.

he meant to me. I longed for his presence, for the sound of his footsteps running down the hallway,

whispered his name into the stillness, a prayer that he might hear me, that he might know how much I missed him and how much

once more.

a sense of quiet acceptance began to settle over me, a fragile pener born from the depths of my sorrow. I knew that Lukel

to my feet, my gaze fixed on the darkness that surrounded me. In that moment of profound stillness, I whispered a promise

a single star seemed to shine a little brighter, a silent sentinel in the vast expanse of

still going through so much pain.” Samantha approached me.

thing–Luke shooting Lukel. She narrated everything to me like it was a goddamn story. And I couldn’t say

sighed in pain. “Life can be

said. “I lost my mother when I was twelve, and my father died of cancer later

her.

The worst part here is that someone also close to you was

I got to

looked at me. “Go ahead, what is it?”

in the building that was burning at that

starting to doubt the things that I told

“No, it’s not that. I was just asking.”