Chapter Text
Mykah stood at the edge of the burial site with her hands folded so tightly that her gloves creaked.
The sky hung low over the cemetery district in New Atlantis—gray, heavy, and bitten by a cold wind that slipped between the rows of markers. It tugged at the black coats gathered around the grave and stirred the loose strands of Mykah’s hair against her cheek.
The casket rested beside the open earth. She had not looked away from it since they arrived.
A man in dark formal clothes stood near the head of the grave, his voice calm and measured. “Today, we say goodbye to Charles O’Malley. He was a good man. A man who cared deeply for the well-being of others. The sort of man who never asked for praise and never turned away someone in need. Charlie spent his life offering kindness in quiet ways. A helping hand. A warm meal. A place to stay. Advice given over late nights and cups of coffee.”
He glanced toward Mykah.
“To one young woman in particular, Charlie was far more than that. He was family. He was home. When life could have left Mykah alone in this world, Charlie stepped forward and raised her as his own. He gave her love, guidance, patience, and the sort of unwavering support that shapes a life forever.”
A soft breeze stirred.
“Those we love never truly leave us. They remain in the lessons they taught us, the kindness they showed us, and the people they helped us become. Charlie O’Malley leaves behind no great fortune or monument. Instead, he leaves something far more meaningful. He leaves behind a legacy of compassion.”
The man kept speaking, but Mykah heard none of it. Her mind drifted into a memory.
Mykah stood by the window, gazing out at the neon lights.
“Mykah…”
She turned quickly. Her uncle lay in bed, his eyes barely open and his voice weak.
“I’m here,” she said at once, crossing the room to his bedside. Her hand brushed his forehead, and she frowned. “You’re burning up.”
The words slipped out quietly, more to herself than to him. She reached for the rag resting in the bowl on the nightstand, wringing it out before gently placing it against his skin. The cloth was cool, and she moved it slowly across his forehead, careful not to startle him.
He sighed softly, his features easing. “That’s better."
Mykah offered a small smile, continuing her gentle work. “You should’ve called for me sooner.”
He looked at her, a tired but genuine smile forming. “You’ve been taking such good care of me. You’d make a great nurse, you know that?”
Her smile grew a touch brighter. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
She adjusted the blanket, pulling it up neatly over him and smoothing the fabric with practiced hands. Then she reached behind him to fluff his pillows, lifting him slightly to settle them just right. When she finished, she stepped back just enough to check her work.
He was still watching her. “You remind me so much of your mother. You look just like her.”
Mykah gave a small, familiar smile. “So you keep telling me.”
He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softened further, filled with quiet awe. “She would be so proud of you.”
The words lingered between them.
He shifted slightly, gathering what strength he could. “You’ll be out of school soon. Have you thought about what career you want?”
Mykah shook her head, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the blanket. “No… not really.”
He nodded, as if that answer made perfect sense. “That’s alright. You're still finishing up with school. You’ve time yet, but I’ll tell you this… you’re meant to help people.”
She tilted her head, curious. “In what way?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s for you to decide. A path that feels right to you.” He watched her carefully, as though trying to etch the moment into his memory. “I know you’ll go on to do great things for others. It’s in you. Same as your mom.”
At the mention of her mother, something gentle passed over his expression. “Cadhla… She had this glow about her. She could walk into a room and everything just… became brighter. People felt it. They couldn’t help it.”
Mykah listened, her smile returning. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
He huffed a small, breathy laugh. “Does it now?”
“You. You’re just like her, too.”
He considered that, then gave a faint nod. “I suppose… it’s just the O’Malley way. Be a bright spot among a darkened lot.”
Mykah’s smile lingered.
Then Charlie's expression changed. Subtly at first, then completely. “Mykah…”
She stilled, sensing the shift.
“I know I’m dying. I haven’t many days left.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t speak.
“All I have left… is yours. The apartment and any funds I have in GalBank. It's enough to care for you a while. If you manage wisely, it can sustain you until you have a career. My wish for you is to succeed and to live a full life. Invest yourself in others, and the return will be more than you can ever imagine.”
His gaze held hers, steady despite everything. “Carry on your mother’s goodness. Her compassion… you have it, too. Don’t ever lose it. The willingness to step in and help. The world needs it more than it knows.” His hand moved, slow and trembling, until it found hers. He squeezed gently. “Mykah… you’re going to be alright without me.”
“I'm not so sure."
"Remain strong no matter what."
"I’ll try.”
"Do more than try."
Tears filled Mykah's eyes. She tried to hold them back, but to no avail. "I don't want to lose you, Uncle Charlie."
His grip tightened. “Mo chroí… Mo stóirín… I will always be with you.”
Suddenly, Mykah was jolted out of the memory as people approached her one by one. Soft hands pressed against her shoulder; softer voices offered comfort.
“He was a good man.”
“He loved you very much.”
“If you need anything…”
Mykah nodded. She thanked them and let herself be embraced. Her face stayed composed because it had to. She spoke the proper words because people expected them.
Then the crowd thinned. The last footsteps faded down the path, leaving Mykah alone beside the grave.
The temporary marker had already been placed. Charles O’Malley. She stared at the name until the letters blurred.
Standing in front of the apartment they had shared, all Mykah could bring herself to do was stare at the door, the keycard heavy in her hand. Finally, she swiped it and slowly walked in.
The room was dim. She turned on a lamp, and her eyes immediately fell upon Charlie’s jacket. It hung over the back of the sofa in the living room, one sleeve still turned inside out.
Mykah stared at it. Fresh tears began to fall, swelling her eyes. She had already cried more than she thought possible in a single day. Crossing into the kitchen, the silence of the room hit her hard.
Driven by a sudden impulse, she went to the far-right cabinet and pulled it open. Sitting on the shelf was a bottle of whiskey. She reached in and took it down. It wasn't like her to drink; in fact, she had never even had a single sip of alcohol before. But today, all she wanted was to drown her sorrows.
She set the bottle on the counter and opened it. The smell rose, sharp and sour.
Finding a glass, she poured it half full. Her hand shook as she lifted it to her lips and took a sip.
The taste hit her tongue with bitterness.
Mykah gagged and spat it into the sink, coughing hard enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. “It's awful,” she rasped. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stared at the glass.
Then, she lifted it again, a sudden determination setting in. A smaller sip this time.
It burned down her throat.
She sipped again. The glass emptied slowly, then not so slowly. When it was gone, she stood with one hand braced on the counter, staring into the vacancy of the room.
She poured a second glass, carrying it into the living room where she sank onto the sofa. She gazed at Charlie’s jacket as she drank, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and the glass hanging loose in her hand.
After a moment, the room began to tilt. The glass slipped in her fingers, and she barely managed to set it on the coffee table before she dropped it altogether. She caught the arm of the sofa to steady herself.
Reaching out, she pulled her uncle's jacket onto her lap and pressed it to her face. It smelled of coffee, old leather, and the odor of a workshop. Uncle Charlie.
Mykah lay down on the sofa, and the first sob tore out of her before she could stop it. Then another. And another. She clutched the jacket tightly against her chest and pressed her face against the fabric.
“I miss you, Uncle Charlie,” she whispered, her fingers clutching the jacket. “I don’t know how to be here without you.”
She held the jacket tighter, crying until exhaustion finally overtook her and forced her into sleep.
