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Rowena MacLeod was a strong woman, tested by fate and experience – and yet, you had never seen her like this.
She was sitting straight on the sofa, with a glass of whisky in her hand as she was staring at nothing with teary eyes.
You put down the book you were reading, standing up and walking towards her, silently.
As you took away the half empty glass she was holding, Rowena complained about the fact that she was still drinking it, but you didn’t listen. You closed your fingers around Rowena’s small wrists and you pulled her up onto her feet, then you hugged her tightly, without expecting for her to hug you back.
Resting your head on her shoulder, you inhaled into the smell of her hair before you exhaled loudly and closed your eyes. It felt like a lump in your throat, tears were pushing behind your closed lids – but you had to be strong for the both of you.
It was breaking your heart, seeing her suffering like this.
Rowena wasn’t moving; maybe a minute had passed before she wrapped her arms around your waist, softly at first and then clinging onto you.
A single sob left her lips and you moved your hand to her back of her head, stroking her hair in a pathetic attempt to reassure her a little.
“We’re going to bring him back.” Your words got lost into Rowena’s red locks. “We’re going to find a way to negotiate with Death.”