My daughter once called my brother’s girlfriend “auntie.”
She had passed away in a tragic car accident just a few months before my daughter, now five, was born. The most heartbreaking part is that my brother had been preparing to propose. He had measured her finger quietly while she slept and had already purchased a ring. I had advised him not to make the proposal in public, fearing it might feel like pressure, and he reassured me he would keep it private.
Since her death, he has never gone on another date. He told our parents that it would be unfair to any woman, because his heart still belongs to the one he lost. His loyalty has been unwavering, even in silence.
Yesterday, we visited his home. My daughter noticed a framed photograph on his desk and asked who the “woman in the picture” was.
He answered softly, saying she was the woman he had wanted to marry.
My daughter, in her innocent way, replied, “So my auntie?”
At that moment, I saw his face falter. He looked as though he might collapse under the weight of memory. He simply nodded, unable to speak further.
I noticed tears gathering in his eyes, though he tried to conceal them. His composure was fragile, but he held it together as best he could.
I stood there, uncertain of what words might ease the moment. So I remained silent, watching, feeling the heaviness of grief and love intertwined.
