What Was Lost

Chapter 1

A prickling sensation crawls up Grace's spine, causing her to turn and scan her surroundings. She had become accustomed to this feeling of being watched, but it always left a sour taste in her mouth. Bracing herself for an unwanted interaction, she mentally prepares herself and forces a practiced smile onto her face. Her eyes land on a tall man with piercing emerald green eyes standing across from her on the crowded subway car.

"Grace Pearson?" He asks, looking at her cautiously, his deep voice carrying throughout the space.

His features are partially concealed by a low knit cap and a neatly trimmed beard. Intricate tattoos peek out from under the edges of his clothing, snaking up his neck and covering his hands. Based on his appearance, he doesn't give off the impression of someone who is politically engaged. But Grace has learned not to judge a book by its cover, especially in this city.

"Yes?" She responds with a polite smile.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He shifts on his feet uneasily. "You're uh...your husband commissioned a piece from me."

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a business card, extending it towards her. Grace turns it over in her palm, noting the elegant cursive writing that reads: Logan Russo, Artist and Sculptor.

Her curiosity piqued, she looks up at him expectantly. "My husband commissioned a piece from you?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Logan shifts on his feet uneasily. "Yes, I just finished it right before..." he trails off uncomfortably. "Well, it's ready."

Surprise flashes across Grace's face as she takes in this unexpected piece of news. "Oh, ok," she says, not quite sure what to make of it all.

Ryan's passion for art was unmatched. Every chance he got, he would visit galleries and shows, eager to discover new artists and add their works to his growing collection. Their home was a reflection of his love for all forms of art, each piece carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed, though he had never commissioned a piece from an artist before. In another life, where he wasn't a policeman, she could have seen Ryan thriving as a curator or gallery owner, surrounded by the beauty and creativity of talented artists.

"I have an exhibit in Tribecca this weekend if you'd like to pick it up there." Logan offers. "Or I can ship it to you."

Grief has a peculiar ability to wrap its cold fingers around you when you least expect it. Just last week, as she sat in the back of a yellow cab, lost in her thoughts, the familiar melody of hers and Ryan's wedding song started playing on the radio. It was moments like these that would bring tears to her eyes and make her heart ache with longing for the love she had lost. And so, for the past 6 months since his sudden death, she had taken refuge in her house, avoiding any potential triggers or emotional confrontations. She could handle her grief better alone, where she didn't have to put on a brave face or hide her pain from others. Ryan would be proud of how she held herself together in public, although she knew she was far from being as graceful as Jackie O has been. But sometimes, she understood why Jackie had married a wealthy Greek man and left the country after her husband's death - because facing the world without your other half is nearly unbearable.

"Thank you. I'll let you know." She stood up as the train came to a stop, feeling slightly shaken by his intense gaze. "This is my stop."

Stepping to the side, she couldn't help but notice his large stature. He was tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill up the entire small cabin. Giving her a strained smile, he watched as she swiftly stashed the card he had given her in her purse before exiting the train. As she hurried through the cold winter streets of the city, she couldn't shake off the intensity of his eyes.

Finally arriving at her office, she removed her coat, damp from the snow, and hung it up in her modest yet cozy space. The office had a nice view of a nearby park, but all she could focus on was the one year left until she completed her residency. She was so close to becoming an independent psychiatrist, but instead of feeling excitement, she felt a heavy sense of dread weighing on her shoulders.

"They found his manifesto. He had, like, a whole list of people he was going to go after including the president and vice president. He even posted about it online which is, like, the most insane part to me. Like...how could they have not caught this? I mean it pisses me off, so I can only imagine how it makes you feel—" Adam, her teenage client, is telling her a little while later.

She casts a weary glance at the clock, its hands ticking slowly and relentlessly. Only 20 minutes had passed since her first client of the day had arrived, but it felt like hours. She was already drained and depleted, her energy sapped by the weight of her job. But what other choice did she have? To quit would mean giving up everything she had worked for - years of schooling and training in psychiatry. Besides, waitressing was not an option anymore, not when she was solely responsible for supporting herself and keeping their house from being foreclosed upon. As a last resort, she had used the money from spousal social security benefits and life insurance to pay off the mortgage. It was a band-aid solution to keep them afloat amidst all the chaos and uncertainty. The thought of going on vacation briefly crossed her mind, but with no one to go with and a mountain of work waiting for her upon return, it seemed more like a fantasy than a possibility. She couldn't imagine "finding herself" on some retreat or in the wilderness or desert somewhere. No, she was too tied down by her obligations and responsibilities. At this point, she was just stuck - trapped in an endless cycle of exhaustion and stress.

She was following the expected protocol. Like a well-oiled machine, she talked to her therapist, one she had seen even before Ryan's passing. She maintained her daily routines going for runs and checking in with loved ones. But deep down, she knew she was isolating herself, perhaps as a way to cope with the loss. She wondered when she would cross the line from mourning widow to strange recluse. How much time did society give her before she was expected to move on? Despite her efforts, the waves of grief continued to crash over her, a relentless tide that numbed her senses and weighed heavy on her heart.

"Adam, for the majority of our session, you've talked about your latest video game and current events. However, I want us to focus on what happened with your family over Christmas. That is the main reason for our therapy sessions, after all." She gently reminds him, maintaining a calm and understanding tone.

Adam was known as a "doorknob confessor", often waiting until the final moments of their session to open up about what was truly on his mind. Normally, she was patient with these types of clients, understanding the struggles of adolescents in expressing themselves. But today, her patience was wearing thin. Thankfully, Adam didn't resist and changed the subject. She let out a small sigh of relief. It always made her uneasy when her clients knew about her personal loss - not just that they were aware of it, but they also knew all the tragic details. It put her in an uncomfortable role reversal, where they expressed sympathy towards her and sometimes even tried to discuss it with her. Work no longer felt like a safe haven because of it.

The oppressive cold of winter weighed heavily on her as she trudged home from the subway station. Every step felt like an effort, her body aching with exhaustion. As she neared her iron fence, she noticed the small memorial placed there. The once vibrant flowers now wilted and the signs soaked through with rain, a somber reminder of what had transpired. Most people had moved on from the tragedy, but for her, it was a constant presence - a painful reminder of her loss and isolation.

When news of Ryan's death first broke, the public response was overwhelming. People flocked to her fence and gate, leaving tokens of their sympathy and support. Strangers approached her on the street to offer kind words, cards flooded in, and his public wake was packed. He had been a beloved politician, known as "the people's champion". His fearlessness, outspokenness, and unwavering dedication to enacting change had earned him legions of fans and followers. But behind closed doors, his job had taken its toll on him in ways no one could have imagined. The public was unaware of the struggles he faced and the heavy burdens he carried. She alone knew the weight of his public persona and the toll it took on him in private. And now, she was left to grieve and make sense of it all as the world moved on without him.