Take Care, Sara

are.”
    “Why?”
    His jaw tightened. “Because I—“ Lincoln cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut.
    “What, Lincoln? What is it?”
    He shook his head. “Here. This is for you.” Lincoln dug into the pocket of his sweatshirt, pulling something blue and twinkling from it.
    Sara took it, her eyes watering as she clutched the angel ornament to her chest. It was smooth and warm from being inside Lincoln’s pocket. She tried to say thank you, but her throat was tight with pain.
    “Merry Christmas, Sara,” Lincoln said in a low voice, reaching out to gently touch her cheek.
    Sara looked up, wanting to say something, anything, but Lincoln was already leaving, taking his warmth with him. Don’t leave me , she inwardly pleaded, but said nothing. He wasn’t hers to keep. Sara’s fingers tightened on the smooth crystal ornament, holding it to her chest. This was, though. This Sara could keep.
    ***
    The house was a mausoleum; a gravesite for him and their baby and the love they’d had. Sara felt trapped within its walls at the same time she felt strangely safe in the past. But today the walls were closing in on her and she had to escape, just for a little bit, until the outside world became too much and she had to retreat back to the house full of ghosts that somehow felt right when everything else felt wrong.
    It was the middle of February and it showed outside. The streets were slush, the yards white with packed snow. Sara wrapped a heavy scarf around her neck and put on gloves and a coat. She shivered; her breath frosting as she exhaled. It wasn’t exactly great weather for a walk, but it didn’t matter. The thought of being inside any longer was maddening.
    She was numb on the outside like she normally was on the inside. It was still better than being inside the house. When had it begun to feel more like a jail than a refuge? He was always on her mind, but something had changed and now it was like everything was distanced from her, distorted. Her thoughts, her feelings, the memories; they all seemed to be someone else’s and Sara was watching them on a movie projector. A bystander. When had that happened? Why had that happened?
    Sara did the usual things, but in a haze of unreality. She bought groceries without seeing people, without remembering if she said a word to anyone while in the store. She drove places, not remembering the drive to them. Sara did what was required of her to survive, but that was all. She’d lost more weight and even she could tell it was to the point of unhealthy. She had no desire to do anything other than what was absolutely necessary. Even that was a chore. It didn’t matter what Mason or Spencer or anyone else said to her. Nothing and no one was getting through to Sara.
    Except Lincoln.
    He was the one person able to pierce the layer of emotionlessness wrapped tightly around Sara. When Lincoln was near he forced her to feel things, to live . Why didn’t he just give up on her? Because you need him and he needs you. Sara hated that voice. She didn’t know if it was hers, or his, or God’s, but she wished it would go away.
    She’d spent almost as much time with Lincoln as she had her husband; while they were dating, and even later, after they were married. He’d been at their house more than his own. They’d had their own form of communication, riddled with good-natured arguing and sarcasm. He’d been her buddy; the person she laughed with the most, especially since her husband didn’t get most of their humor. But Sara hadn’t needed him, not like now. She couldn’t breathe unless he was with her and that scared her. When had he gone from her husband’s brother to her very air ?
    She crossed the street and walked along the shoveled sidewalk, waving at an elderly man when he called out a greeting. Sara didn’t really know her neighbors. She’d never been too social, and after everything happened, she’d turned into a recluse. Going out in public made her nauseous. It seemed like everywhere she went people were watching her, judging her. They knew her secrets, they knew what she did. They knew the life she’d indirectly taken.
    Sara gasped as pain struck her heart. She lowered her head as she hurried her pace, eyes on her boots as she walked. There was no destination in mind. If there was a literal place that could remove the agony in her soul, or even her soul and somehow heal it before putting it back, that was where Sara would walk to. She blinked at the