It's been three days since I found Eric's letter.
Three days since I caught a new scent of him.
I don't ever want it to go away, so I keep it
locked in the box. Whenever I want to smell him,
I open it. I haven't seen Brandon since our fallout,
and honestly, I feel bad about it. If he was
just trying to help and I flipped on him, then
he's probably avoiding me now. He hasn't done
anything around my house lately. And it feels
uncanny. What's worse? I don't even see his car
in the driveway anymore. Maybe he's at another
conference or something. I don't know. But guilt
is tearing me up inside. Five days pass, and
when I'm out getting groceries, I spot him. He's
holding a basket. He doesn't come over, so I
take the initiative and go to him. Brandon gives
me a small smile. Hey, I haven't seen you in
a while. I've been about oh Okay, so um The shower
thing stopped working again. I can give you a
plumber's number someone who can fix it for you.
I Watch him carefully His response is totally
valid, but I don't want anyone else to fix it.
I want him to fix it I Get it. You're mad. You're
angry with me And I want to say I'm sorry for
treating you the way I did. That was uncalled
for. Brandon shakes his head. It's fine. You're
grieving your husband. You're just battling emotions.
I'm just giving you space, Shauna. I grip the
handle of my trolley, holding on longer than
I should, because I don't want this moment to
end. I feel responsible for the tension between
us, and I want to fix it. Brandon takes a step.
lifts one of the jam jars from the shelf and
inspects the label. I have this thing, a party.
Well, I was invited to one in the neighborhood
just a few blocks down. Have you heard of it?
I shake my head. Of course I haven't. I never
hear about these things because I keep myself
shut away. Brandon, on the other hand, he mingles.
He knows people. The Peters, they're having a
party, he says. Setting the jar back down. And
I have to bring jam. Jam? A small smile tugs
at my lips. Why that of all things? He shrugs.
Maybe it's part of their games? That's weird.
Brandon smiles faintly. Whatever it is, I won't
be taking part in any jam eating. Is the invitation
open? Yeah, totally. You should have gotten one
in your mailbox. Oh, I haven't checked it all
week. Then it's probably sitting in there. I
shake my head. I don't think it is. I get home
and head straight for the mailbox, already bracing
for disappointment. I never get invited to anything,
so why would today be different? Inside are a
few bills, a flyer, and then I see it. The invitation.
To the party down the block. When I glance up,
Brandon is standing by his car. He motions toward
me as if to ask whether I'd gotten it. I lift
the flyer and wave it in the air. He gives me
two thumbs up, grinning. Now I don't even know
what to bring. The invitation says to carry a
board game. Scrabble, maybe. Eric and I used
to play Scrabble all the time. That settles it.
I'll take that. The real question is what to
wear. With only two hours notice, I pull on a
denim jumpsuit. By the time I'm zipping it up,
a knock comes at the door. It's Brandon. He's
dressed casually. Tunic and loose pants. So different
from me, but somehow it works. Want us to walk?
Um, okay. We stroll down the street in silence.
He doesn't fill the gaps, doesn't step too close,
keeps that careful distance. Like we're only
neighbors, or like we're pretending to be. I
texted you the plumber's number. Did you get
it? Yeah, I did. Thanks, but I'd prefer if you
fixed it. He stops walking. Are you sure about
that? I nod. Alright, I'll see what I can do.
I do a small dance inwardly. When we arrive,
the party is already in full swing. Music. chatter,
clinking glasses. People gather around tables,
laughing, playing games. Crackers and spreads
line the counter, and Brandon's jar of jam has
been opened, smeared across a plate. Earlier,
after we got home from the grocery, Brandon had
passed to drop off his jam and my Scrabble game
in advance for preparation. The hostess waves
her hand at another guest. Oh no, that was for
one of the games. Brandon lifts a brow at me,
amused. I can't help but smile back. I guess
they are Jamaholics. He whispers. The night unfolds
easier than I expect. It feels good to actually
be out. We sip wine and cocktails, courtesy of
the host's husband, a skilled bartender. And
I have to admit, they're really good. For the
first time in a long while, I feel almost normal.
The party lasts about four hours, and by the
time it winds down, it's close to midnight. Brandon
and I decide to stay back to help clean up, even
though the hosts insist it's fine. Most of the
neighbors have already left, but neither of us
is quite ready to call it a night. When we finally
finish, it's half past 12, late enough for the
streets to feel quieter, softer. I'm glad Brandon's
walking me home. He makes me feel safe. We're
both a little tipsy, not drunk, just warm and
giggly. Our shoulders brush now and then, and
when we bump into each other, he laughs, steadying
me by the hand. I don't pull away. I just let
it happen. A second later, he seems to catch
himself and lets go. It's fine. He hesitates,
then takes my hand again. We walk in a comfortable
silence until we reach his walkway. He's about
to cross me over when I say... You know, I've
never actually seen inside anyone else's house
on this street, except the one we were just in.
And it's strange. It's almost a carbon copy of
mine. Well, except for one extra room. Isn't
that weird? Does yours look like that? He shakes
his head. Not really. The layout's similar, but...
I did a few changes. Oh. I can show you if you
want. Show me? Yeah. Um, okay. Though it's late.
Are you sleepy? I shake my head. Not even a little.
Truth is, I'm feeling something. But it's not
sleepiness. Maybe he senses it. Maybe not. Brandon
releases my hand, walks up the steps and unlocks
the door. I follow him inside. It's nothing like
my place. Wow. Did a bit of remodeling. A bit?
You changed the whole thing. Yep. When Keisha
and I first moved here, she didn't like the layout.
Brandon says, leaning against a wall. She wanted
me to move things around. Just little stuff at
first. But then she got obsessed. Said it didn't
feel like home. So we remodeled everything. And
this... This is what's left. I glance around
the room. It's beautiful, but in a hollow way.
Quiet, muted, almost clinical. Mine has color,
warmth. His place feels gray, like a photograph
drained of life. I guess she was going for a
monotone kind of atmosphere. He adds with a small
shrug. You need a glass of water? I nod. My throat
is parched from all the wine earlier. He disappears
into the kitchen and returns with a glass, handing
it to me. I take a sip, grateful. You can sit.
I lower myself onto the couch. It's far comfier
than mine and he sits beside me, sinking into
the seat. For a moment, we just stare at each
other. I set the glass down on the coffee table.
Look. I'm really sorry about the other night.
I say again. Brandon shakes his head. Why are
you still apologizing, Shauna? I don't know.
I just feel bad about how I reacted. The whole
situation. That was the past. We're here now.
But are we really okay? I feel like I broke something
in you. You didn't break anything in me, trust
me. I smile. relief flickering across my face.
Good. Silence settles between us again. Not awkward.
Just... full. Why do you... Why do you keep doing
things for me? It's not just curiosity. I already
know why. He likes me. Of course he does. But
I want to hear it from him. To know that someone
still sees me. That someone still finds me worth
doing things for that I can still be liked even
after being broken He turns fully toward me draping
his arm over the back of the couch You're a good
woman Shauna. I saw how you and Eric were how
much love you had between you No woman deserves
what happened to you? You deserve everything
a happy ending He exhales his voice tightening
I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry you had to go
through that. I admired you both. And as for
me, my marriage was a failure. A shamble, really.
But that was a long time coming. We got married
young, 19. Thought it was love, but it was just
lust. Or comfort, I don't even know anymore.
He looks away for a moment. Seeing you go through
this, after having something real, it breaks
me. You deserve more, Shauna. You really do.
I blink up at him, caught off guard. I didn't
expect any of that. God, I don't even know what
I was expecting. Tears well in my eyes before
I can stop them. Because he just reminded me
of what I lost. Of Eric's love. The kind of love
I'd give anything to feel again. Brandon gets
up. Walks to the side table and hands me a box
of tissues. I wipe my eyes. Sorry. I whisper.
Don't you ever apologize for your feelings. I
finish my glass of water and set it back on the
coffee table. But then I hesitate, pick it up
again, and hand it to him as I stand. I should
probably call it a night. I say, glancing at
my watch. It's late. I'll walk you to your door.
Brandon sets the glass down and opens the door
for me. The chilly air hits my face, sobering
me slightly, reminding me just how late it is.
The wine still hums in my system, loosening my
thoughts, making me think in ways I probably
shouldn't. I don't want to ruin this, whatever
this is. I like Brandon the way he is. Kind.
Steady. Safe. He follows me across the street
and waits until I step inside. Thank you for
tonight, for reminding me about the party, and
for showing me your house. Not a problem. I return
the smile. You have a good night, okay? Yeah,
you too. I close the door, listening to his footsteps
fade. When I'm sure he's gone, I slump to the
floor, leaning against the door and exhaling
hard. I don't even know what I'm feeling right
now. Grief, relief, or something in between.
But for the first time, I've let myself feel
again. And what I feel for Brandon, it's more
than friendship. And it hurts. It fucking hurts.
Because even though Eric told me to move on,
it still doesn't feel right. Brandon messages
me to say he's home safely, and I smile at my
phone. He adds that he won't be able to do the
plumbing tomorrow, but will be free the day after.
I send him a thumbs up and a quick good night.
It usually takes me forever to fall asleep, my
mind always spinning with thoughts of Eric and
everything I've lost. But tonight, maybe it was
the wine, maybe it was the warmth of Brandon's
company. I fall asleep like a baby. Two days
later, Brandon shows up at my doorstep with two
tool bags. He actually looks like a plumber.
Plaid shirt, cargo pants, work boots. I poke
fun at his uniform and he chuckles. Before starting,
he turns off the water system. No surprise showers
this time, he says with a grin. While he works,
I fetch him a glass of water. I don't stay upstairs.
It feels strange. Another man in my marital home.
A man I secretly like, even though I shouldn't.
I stay downstairs watching TV until I hear him
call my name. When I head back up, there's a
brand new shower head gleaming under the light.
Brandon turns to me. Did you know the old one
had a timer? A timer? I frown. Yeah. It shuts
off after a certain amount of time, but it was
malfunctioning. Didn't you know? I shrug. I think
Eric bought it, so... He must have known. He
studies me for a second. Huh. What? Nothing.
Just... Well, you said it's been happening for
a while and he never told you. Maybe he just
wanted you to call him. You know, feel useful.
I smile, shaking my head. Useful? Yeah. Let him
fix things. Made him feel needed. I pause, the
thought sinking in. Wow. I never saw it that
way. It makes sense. And it does. Eric used to
tinker with that shower even when he was too
weak to stand. Maybe that was his way of holding
on. Of taking care of me one last time. Brandon
breaks the silence. Anyway, it's all good now.
Your shower's ready for the taking. I smile up
at him. Thank you so much for this. He shrugs.
Call me anytime. You have my number. As he gathers
his tools and heads downstairs, I say, Oh, wait,
I baked a cake for you. He stops, surprised.
Cake? Yeah, carrot. Do you eat carrot cake? I
wasn't sure, but I felt like baking something.
Yeah, I do. I hand him the loaf pan. He grins
and gives it a long inhale. You know I'm totally
going to finish this in an hour, right? I laugh
again, watching him go to my door. Brandon doesn't
look like a man who eats cake for comfort. But
if he does devour an entire loaf, he won't gain
a goddamn thing. Brandon pauses at the bottom
of my stairs, both tool bags and cake in hand.
He hesitates, shifting his weight like he's debating
something big. I blink at him. Brandon? He exhales,
sets one bag down and scratches the back of his
neck. There's a deep breath. Then he lets it
out slowly, like the world might end with his
next words. Can I take you out for dinner? My
eyes widen. I wasn't expecting that. Not now.
Not like this. He notices my silence and rushes
to add... It's okay if it's too soon. If you're
not ready, or... Yes. Yes? Yes, I'll go on a
date with you. His face lights up, just a flicker
at first, then a full boyish grin that makes
my chest tighten. You will? I nod. Great. His
voice softens. I'll message you the time and
place. We'll take it from there, okay? Okay.
He picks up his bag again, tucks the loaf pan
under one arm. and heads toward the door. This
time, his steps are sure, his shoulders straight.
Like the simple act of asking me has given him
new confidence. I watch from the doorway as he
crosses the street, the evening sunset illuminating
on his back. For the first time in a long time,
something warm unfurls inside me. Brandon reminds
me of an excited schoolboy on his first date.
When he comes over to greet me, he brings a single
rose. I have no idea where he got it, but the
way he presents it, nervous, hopeful, it's one
of the sweetest things I've ever seen. The restaurant
he chose is elegant, maybe too elegant. I should
have dressed up more. My cocktail dress suddenly
feels too casual for a place like this, where
the air hums with quiet sophistication. and the
women wear gowns that brush the floor. Still,
Brandon doesn't seem to notice. He talks about
work, about the new interns, about small things
that keep conversation easy. I laugh more than
I expect to. He insists I try the chocolate cake
for dessert, but it's so huge I can't finish
it. After dinner, we take a slow walk down the
street, then circle back to the car park. The
night is calm, the breeze soft. Brandon is sweet.
As always. So much that it reminds me of Eric.
He's gentle like Eric was. And that gentleness
makes my chest ache. It makes me want to cry.
But I don't. And I won't. I refuse to ruin the
night with my tears. I hate that I keep reminding
him how deeply Eric still lives in my heart.
He knows it. But it must be exhausting. watching
me crumble every time a memory slips through.
Brandon walks me to my front door. When I unlock
it, he smiles softly. Hope you enjoyed your night,
Shauna. I did. It was lovely, thank you. I can't
even remember the last time I went out dressed
up like this. It felt like a breath of fresh
air. Brandon's smile widens. Good. I'm glad you
enjoyed it. You look happy. I like seeing you
smile. He pauses, his voice lowering. You have
a beautiful smile. I stare up at him. Every time
I look at this man, I wonder, if I kissed him,
would it be a sin? Would I be betraying Eric's
memory? Would his kiss erase what's left of the
man I loved? It's as if Brandon reads my thoughts.
He leans in, hesitant, and my body tenses. He
notices immediately and starts to pull back,
murmuring, I'm sorry, I... But I stop him. My
hand rises to his cheek, and I pull him toward
me. The kiss is soft, sweet, tender. Nothing
about it feels wrong. It feels like breathing
for the first time after being underwater. When
I pull away, I wipe my lips, my heart trembling.
Brandon just stands there, stunned, his fingers
brushing the corner of his mouth. Have a good
night, Brandon. I whisper, before closing the
door and disappearing behind it. And just like
that, something new begins in my life. I slip
into bed wearing my silk pajamas, feeling warm
and fuzzy inside. The night replays in my head.
His smile, his gentleness, that kiss. Brandon
reminds me of the way Eric once looked at me
in those early years. Soft, careful, full of
promise. Sometimes I wonder if that's what draws
me to him, the familiarity. But I know Brandon
isn't a replacement. He's just different. Still,
as sleep creeps in, I curl up with one of Eric's
old shirts, pressing it close to my chest and
breathing in what's left of his scent. The warmth
in my heart collides with the ache in my soul.
And somewhere between both, I finally drift off.
For the next few weeks, Brandon keeps setting
up dates for us. Twice a week, sometimes more.
Sometimes it's a walk in the park, sometimes
a fancy dinner. Other times he just texts me
out of the blue. You free for lunch? And I always
say yes. I enjoy his company, maybe more than
I should, but part of me worries I'm moving too
fast. Brandon takes things slow. Since that night,
the night of our kiss, he hasn't tried anything
again. I think he's being careful, giving me
space. Still, I find myself yearning for his
touch, for that quiet moment when his lips met
mine. Maybe it'll happen again soon. maybe even
tomorrow. We have a dinner date planned, a dockside
restaurant overlooking the water, with yachts
swaying beneath the moonlight. Just thinking
about it makes me nervous and excited all at
once. It's Saturday, and I've just returned from
the grocery store. I haven't seen Brandon all
morning, but he messaged me about our plans tonight.
I head toward the mailbox. figuring I'll check
the mail I missed yesterday. That's when a black
tinted car pulls up in front of Brandon's house.
I pause, watching from across the street. A woman
steps out. Elegant, confident, and achingly familiar.
My heart clenches. It's her. Keisha. Brandon's
ex -wife. No, not ex -wife. His goddamn wife.
Hey Raiders, you have met the end of The Widow,
part two. Stay tuned for part three, the final
episode of the season. And if you haven't already,
subscribe, share, and follow me on TikTok and
YouTube. See ya, bye.