TOBIAS FERNANDEZ
"You have never been so quiet, Fuego."
His line of sight was blurred, making it nearly impossible for him to see the outlines of the fresh flowers he laid by the side of the tombstone.
She had never been the buy me flowers or else type but he could tell that carnations — especially the pink ones, had grown on her. She painted them all over Tomiwa's room when she was just born and had a special place where she planted them in the meadow away from where the horses grazed.
Surprisingly, the flowers still bloomed once their seasons arrived and as much as he tried to tend to them as she did, they were not as beautiful as they used to be.
"I miss you... a lot."
He slowly dusted away a single leaf, tainting her name before crouching in front of her. It pained him to see that the engraved writing was beginning to fade.
Has it really been that long?
"I have disappointed you. I'm sorry," Tobias said, wiping away a hot tear before it escaped his tear ducts. "I have failed the family we worked so hard to create. Eniola, I'm sorry."
He could almost hear her reprimand him for being so hard on himself but his grief was louder.
"How do I make up for it?" he asked, desperation straining his usually calm voice. "How can I make our children not hate me for failing them? Casimiro looks at me like I am his enemy and Yin, I see through his understanding eyes and all that is left is pity and distrust.
"I've fucked up, didn't I?" He finally broke down, burying his face in his palms and ashamed to look at her. "I have lost you and them."
I'm sorry.
He listened to the light breeze that mixed with his painful sobs that lacked her voice. Perhaps she now hated him as well?
That would be understandable.
He hated himself too.
"Tomiwa is very sad, I noticed." He started again, much calmer. "I did not know how to talk to her about it so I sent Alvaro but she told him nothing."
He recalled his daughter's eyes that matched his with hidden sadness. Hers was bitter and tired. It was like she had given up on fighting but pretended she was stable.
It pained him to realize they shared yet another similarity.
She had seen her mother at the very last moment— sprawled out on the floor with a puddle of blood immediately staining the grass.
He had been too late to shield her from it —her and Casimirio.
Tobias did not know what to do at that moment. He had stared at his wife for the longest second, all the noise around him muffled and a few other gunshots followed as he felt his daughter taken from him.
By the time he returned to his senses, he was on the ground, palms pressed against Eniola's chest as he begged for an ambulance and cried to a God he never bothered to believe in until that very second.
The next three days were torment for him.
He had dropped to his knees in front of the doctor, promised them his entire being if they saved her, and completely abandoned the idea of sleep. On the third night, he was there when her injured heart eventually stopped, resignation causing his own heart to fail.
A part of him wished he never regained consciousness.
He hadn't imagined a life without her. He never thought he would have to. Not when they still had so much to do and prove.
