Fields That Remember Names
The sunlight spilled in through the old kitchen window like liquid gold, warming the air with a gentle embrace. Elira's hands moved carefully, almost reverently, as she arranged the small birthday cake on the worn wooden table. The cake wasn't fancyjust a modest vanilla sponge layered with honeyed cream and dotted with wild berries picked fresh from the garden the day beforebut it glowed somehow, as if the sunlight itself was folded into the frosting.
Auren sat in a high chair, chubby legs kicking with innocent delight. His silver eyes caught every shimmer of light, reflecting a world untouched by pain or shadow. A single curl fell onto his forehead, soft as dandelion fluff. His tiny hands reached up, eager to grasp the flickering candle flame Elira had just lit.
The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and something sweeterwildflowers, lavender, and a hint of cinnamon from the morning's baked apples. The gentle hum of a summer morning floated in through the open window: the chirp of crickets, a faint breeze rustling the leaves of the oak tree in the yard, and a lone robin singing somewhere nearby.
Elira's voice was soft, like a whisper meant only for him. "Happy birthday, my little star," she murmured, brushing a lock of dark hair from his flushed cheek. "One year. One whole year with you."
Auren's laughter bubbled up, bright and clear, as Elira lifted him from his chair. The world was wide and warm, full of quiet miracleseach breath, each smile, a fragile promise that life, for now, was good.
Outside, the garden was a riot of color. Lavender swayed with the breeze, the deep green of the boxwood bushes framed the flowerbeds, and little bees flitted from blossom to blossom, humming softly. The air was thick with the scent of earth and honey.
Elira held Auren close, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. The moment was simple, but perfecta memory she vowed to keep safe from the cold shadows she sometimes glimpsed just beyond the window.
Time, however, is a quiet thief.
The sweetness of that day faded slowly, like the last golden rays of a setting sun. And yet, some memories resist the fadethe smell of honey on a child's skin, the warmth of a mother's touch, the sound of innocent laughter in a quiet kitchen.
Morning light filtered in again, but the world had shifted.
Auren was no longer the soft, round-faced boy with silver eyes full of wonder. Now, at sixteen, he stood at the threshold of his bedroom door, framed by the low hum of a restless city waking up outside. His hair was darker now, wild and curling just at the edges, his eyes sharper and guarded.
The scent of rain clung to the air, heavy with the promise of storms. And the houseonce quiet and peacefulwas anything but today.
A sharp crash echoed from the living room.
Elira's voice followed it, half-exasperated, half-amused: "Cassian! Lio, no! Please don't throw the cereal"
The disaster was unfolding.
Cassian, the ever-energetic nine-year-old, stood on the couch with a wide grin, cereal box in hand. Bright, tousled brown hair fell into his eyes, which sparkled with mischievous delight. Meanwhile, little LioAuren's baby brother barely a year oldcrawled eagerly toward the mess, eyes wide with curiosity and sticky fingers reaching for whatever he could find.
Auren sighed and stepped fully into the room. His sixteen-year-old frame was taller now, lean but still carrying the remnants of boyhood in the way his shoulders tensed as he surveyed the chaos.
The floor was speckled with milk puddles and scattered cereal. The couch cushions were disheveled, and Cassian's grin widened when he caught Auren's sharp glance.
"Well, this is a great start to your sweet sixteen," Cassian teased, tossing a handful of flakes into the air like confetti.
Lio giggled, babbling happily as he clapped his sticky hands.
Elira entered behind them, hands on her hips, laughing despite herself. "I told you both to keep it down. Auren's big day, remember?"
Auren's lips twitched in a reluctant smile. The tension of years, the weight of the past and the futurethey all momentarily dissolved in the presence of these two wild, untamed spirits.
"Guess this is what family looks like," he said softly, stepping over the mess to pick up Lio, whose gummy smile was the perfect mix of innocence and chaos.
Cassian laughed, hopping down from the couch to help pick up the cereal box, though the grin never left his face. "Come on, Auren, don't be so serious. It's your day. Let's make it memorable."
Elira pulled Auren into a gentle hug, the scent of her lavender soap and warm skin grounding him in the present. "No matter what happens, you'll always have us."
And in that momentthe mess, the noise, the imperfect chaosAuren felt the flicker of something he hadn't in a long time: home.
Auren dropped to his knees beside the spilled cereal, the cold splash of milk seeping through the thin soles of his sneakers. Cassian and Lio had scattered every last flake across the floorwhite and gold shards catching the fading morning lightand the faint sweet scent of milk mingled with the warm aroma of baked bread lingering from breakfast.
"Let's get this cleaned up before Mom kills us both," Auren muttered, grabbing a handful of paper towels from the counter. Cassian snorted and crawled down from the couch, kneeling beside him with exaggerated solemnity.
Lio babbled happily from his spot in Elira's arms, his sticky fingers batting at the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra.
Elira smiled tiredly, drying her hands on her apron. "Thanks, Auren. You always make things feel manageable."
The words settled softly between them as they workedwiping milk, sweeping crumbs, moving broken cereal boxes to the trash. The rhythm was quiet, almost meditative. The sound of cloth rubbing wood, the scrape of broom bristles, the soft laughter from Cassian and Lio.
The day stretched out ahead, each moment stitched with light and shadow.
Later, Auren laced his worn sneakers and pulled on his jacket before stepping outside. The air was crisp with early autumn's promise, a faint scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke drifting from a neighbor's chimney. The sky was a soft wash of pale blue, edged with the faintest blush of orange near the horizon.
His breath came out in small clouds, and the crunch of leaves beneath his feet was a satisfying, steady sound.
School wasn't fara modest brick building surrounded by towering maples and oaks, their leaves a fiery chorus of reds and golds. He moved through halls humming with the static energy of teenagerswhispers, laughter, shuffling papers.
His friends gathered by their usual lockers, faces bright with the familiar comfort of inside jokes and shared history. Rowan, with his easy grin, was the first to spot him.
"Auren! Man, you're late," Rowan teased, bumping his shoulder gently.
"Had to clean up the apocalypse this morning," Auren replied dryly, eyes flicking toward the wall clock. "Cassian's a menace."
"Sounds about right," smirked Jude, tossing a crumpled paper ball into the trash. "Bet Lio's the mastermind."
The laughter that followed was warm, genuinean anchor in the swirl of noise and light.
Classrooms were a blur of muted chalkboards, scratchy chairs, and the soft tapping of pens on paper. The air smelled faintly of old books and polished wood, mixed with the faint metallic tang of anxiety before a quiz.
Auren found himself lost in the words of a poem about lost worlds and fragile memories, the rhythm soothing against the background hum of a restless classroom.
Outside again, the afternoon had deepened.
He wandered to the old playground on the edge of town, where golden light filtered through skeletal branches and the breeze carried whispers of summer's end. The swing set creaked softly, and the dusty gravel crunched underfoot.
Here, the world felt slow and still, as if suspended between heartbeats.
He sat on a weathered bench, pulling his jacket tighter around him against the cooling air, and let his gaze wander. The sky was a pale wash, the clouds faint and soft as cotton. Somewhere, a bird calledsharp and suddenand then was silent.
The late afternoon spilled slowly into evening.
The house was quiet when Auren returned, the golden hour light streaming through tall windows, casting long, soft shadows across the wooden floors. The scent of dinnerrosemary, garlic, and roasting chickendrifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint sweetness of vanilla candles burning on the dining table.
Elira hummed softly as she moved between pots and pans, the gentle clink of utensils accompanying her song.
Cassian was sprawled on the floor, constructing a chaotic fortress from pillows and blankets, while Lio napped soundly, his small chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep.
Auren slipped off his jacket and leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene with a quiet smile.
The light caught the small silver bracelet on his wristan old gift from Elira, etched with tiny leaves and starsa reminder of home, and all its imperfect beauty.
As the sun dipped low, the family gathered around the table, the air rich with laughter and stories. The candles flickered, casting warm halos on faces tired but content.
Auren caught Elira's eye across the table, a silent exchange of love and gratitude passing between them. The chaotic morning, the long day, the weight of growing upit all felt lighter here.
Outside, the evening sky deepened to a soft indigo, the first stars shyly appearing.
And in that moment, surrounded by the scent of roasted herbs and the steady hum of family, Auren felt a fragile kind of peace.
The kitchen was thick with the smell of roasted chicken and warm bread, soft and golden in the gentle glow of the overhead light. Outside, dusk stretched long fingers of purple and pink across the sky, a last whisper of daylight.
Around the table, the usual clutter of a family dinnerforks scraping plates, laughter muffled by the walls, the soft murmur of Cassian's endless stories and Lio's occasional gigglesswirled into a familiar, comforting noise. But Auren's appetite had fled hours ago, replaced by a tightening in his chest he couldn't name.
He pushed his food around the plate, eyes catching the way the candlelight flickered against his mother's face, tracing every tired line. Elira smiled softly at Cassian, her hands steady as she wiped Lio's sticky fingers on a napkin.
Then Auren's voice cut through the easy warmth, sudden and cold.
"Why don't you ever talk about Dad?"
The words felt sharper than he meant. The room shifted; Cassian's laughter stopped mid-sentence, and Elira's fork hesitated halfway to her mouth.
"Why would I?" Elira's voice was soft, almost cautious, like she was stepping onto thin ice. "There's nothing to say."
Auren's jaw clenched, frustration prickling along his skin. "I'm sixteen now. I deserve to know somethinganything. You never even tell me why he left, or why you don't want to talk about him. I don't understand."
Elira's eyes dipped, flickering away for a moment before returning to his.
"I just want to protect you, Auren. Some things are better left in the past."
"No," Auren said, voice louder than he intended. "You don't get to decide that for me. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm your son."
Cassian's face twisted, brows drawn tight.
"Enough," he said, voice low but trembling. "Leave it alone."
Auren's chest tightened, a flood of questions choking him.
"I'm not leaving it alone," he said. "I need to know why. Why did he leave? Did he hate us? Was it because of me?"
Elira's breath hitched, eyes shimmering with tears she hadn't meant to show. The candle flickered, throwing shadows across her face, tracing the sorrow etched in her skin.
"No," she whispered, voice breaking. "It was never your fault."
"Then why do you act like you don't want me to ask?" Auren's voice cracked, the anger beneath it raw and trembling. "Why do you shut me out?"
Cassian's jaw clenched. His nine-year-old face looked far older in that momentangry, vulnerable, desperate.
"Stop making Mom cry," he snapped, voice rising. "God, Auren, can't you see? She's trying, okay? You think it's easy for her?"
The room fell silent except for the harsh catch of Elira's breath.
Cassian's small fists clenched at his sides.
"You're supposed to be the big brother. Act like it, for once."
Auren's eyes burned with something close to tears. The words felt like knives, slicing deeper than he wanted to admit.
"I'm trying," he said, voice rough. "But how can I, when everything feels like a lie?"
Elira blinked back tears, voice shaking.
"Because it's not a lie, Auren. It's pain. It's grief. And sometimes, the past is too heavy to carry all at once."
Cassian's lip trembled as he swallowed hard.
"You don't get to push her away, Auren. Not like this."
Elira wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
"I think… I think maybe I should take the boys out for a while. Get some fresh air. And some things for the party tomorrow."
Her voice was gentle but firm, and without waiting for a reply, she gathered Lio into her arms and gestured to Cassian.
Cassian hesitated, eyes flicking from Auren to their mother.
"Whatever," he muttered, voice thick with hurt and confusion. "This whole day's a disaster anyway."
The front door clicked softly behind them, leaving Auren alone in the dim kitchen. The scent of rosemary and garlic lingered, sharp and bittersweet.
He rested his head against the cool wood of the chair back, breathing uneven, heart pounding in the heavy silence.
Outside, the faint muffled voices of Elira and the boys drifted inthe quiet shuffle of footsteps on gravel, the soft whimper of Lio, Cassian's sigh heavy with the weight of words left unspoken.
Auren closed his eyes, the shadows of his own questions stretching long into the night.
The kitchen clock ticked steadily, the sound sharp and relentless in the stillness. Auren sat stiff, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood grain of the table. The weight of the argument pressed on him like a stone sinking in watercold, heavy, impossible to ignore.
A soft creak drew his attention.
The kitchen door eased open, and Elira stepped back inside, careful to close it gently behind her. She paused in the doorway, silhouetted by the fading light from the hallway, a fragile figure carved out of exhaustion and something deepersomething brittle beneath the surface.
Her eyes searched his face, as if measuring the distance between them. Then she forced a small, practiced smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'll be back soon," she said quietly, voice steady but with a faint tremor, barely there but undeniable if you listened closely.
The scent of the fresh autumn air clung to her coatdamp earth and fallen leaves mingled with the faint trace of lavender from the lotion she always wore. It was a scent Auren recognized from countless afternoons, a scent that usually meant safety and warmth. Tonight, it felt foreign, like a memory wrapped in glass.
Elira stepped further in, her hand resting briefly on the doorframe, fingers trembling slightly.
"I love you," she added, voice softer now, almost a whisper, fragile as a thread about to snap.
The words hung in the air between them, beautiful and desperate, a lifeline thrown across the quiet chasm.
But Auren said nothing.
His mouth was dry, his heart pounding in a rhythm that felt like a curse. He swallowed hard, the words lodged somewhere deep in his throat, unspoken, unbearable.
Elira's eyes shone with tears she did not wipe away. For a moment, the distance between mother and son cracked, revealing the rawness beneathan ache mirrored in both their chests.
Then she turned and slipped out again, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Auren alone with the ticking clock and the silence that followed.
The kitchen felt colder now, shadows stretching longer, swallowing the warmth of the day. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound, low and steady, like a heartbeat in an empty room.
Auren's hands balled into fists under the table. The regret bloomed slowly, a sharp, gnawing ache that wrapped itself around his ribs. How could he have let her words go unanswered? How had he let the moment slip through his fingers, broken and silent?
He closed his eyes, the vision of her facetired, vulnerable, trembling with loveseared into his mind.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, scattering the last of the fallen leaves in restless spirals. The dusk deepened into night, and the house held its breath, waiting for a day that would not come again.
In the quiet, Auren's chest tightened with the weight of what he had not said, the love left unspoken, the fragile bonds stretched thin by fear and silence.
And somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered, heavy with truth: you will regret this.
Evening settled like dust. Quietly. Gradually. Without permission.
The overhead kitchen light hummed faintly, casting a dull yellow over the worn linoleum floor. Auren was still at the table. Same spot. Same posture. His plate of cake had long since collapsed into a sugary wreck, the once-fluffy frosting now congealed, melting into the paper plate in slow surrender. He hadn't touched it since the door shut behind his mom.
A couple of hours had passed.
Maybe more. Maybe less. Time was unreliable nowstretching and folding like heat above asphalt. His phone sat on the table, dark-faced and unbothered, a little smudge of icing on the edge from where he'd picked it up and set it back down. Again. And again.
He hadn't heard from them.
He hadn't heard anything.
Outside, the world had gone still. The wind had stopped rattling the branches. No more scattered leaves skittering across the porch. No car engines on the road beyond the trees. Just the breathing silence of nightfall, and the relentless tick-tick-tick of the microwave clock.
Auren glanced at the front door.
His foot bounced under the table now, a restless rhythm. He didn't remember when it started. Maybe after the second hour, when the silence had shifted from peaceful to suffocating. Or maybe it was when the cake began to make him nauseous just by existing.
He reached for his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No dots typing.
He turned it over.
Then back again.
Still nothing.
"I'll be back soon."
Her voice echoed suddenly, perfectly. As if it had been stored in the walls. He could still see her eyes as she said itwet and shimmering, her lashes clumped together like spiderlegs. That pathetic little smile she wore like armor.
He'd let her walk out like that. With Lio clutched to her chest and Cassian trailing behind, quiet for once, face red and angry and trying not to cry.
And Auren had said nothing.
"I love you," she'd said.
And he hadn't replied.
Now, every minute that passed made that silence louder. Sharper.
He exhaled shakily, dragging his hand down his face. His fingers trembled as they brushed his temple, cold and clammy, like he'd been underwater without knowing it. Something coiled tighter in his stomacha writhing, shapeless fear he couldn't name yet.
He didn't want to be dramatic. Didn't want to think something was wrong.
But the street outside had grown too dark. And too quiet.
Elira always texted. Even if it was something small. Be home in 10. Cass fell asleep in the car. Lio needs new wipes, detouring to Kroger. She'd never just vanish into the dark without a word.
Unless something had happened.
Auren's chest tightened, sharp and sudden. He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sound made him wince.
His hands were cold. His fingers tingled. The edges of the room felt distant, like they were floating a few inches farther away than they should be.
He walked into the living room.
Still no headlights out front.
No movement on the street.
The lamp beside the couch was still on, casting its warm pool of light across the scattered baby toys and Cassian's sweatshirt that had been half-hanging off the armrest since earlier. One of Lio's little spoons lay on the rugblue, with a bite mark in the rubber tip. He stared at it longer than he meant to.
Auren sank onto the couch slowly. He picked up the spoon without knowing why and turned it in his fingers, trying not to imagine the car broken down on some back road. Or worse. A crash. A tree. Sirens.
He clamped his jaw.
They were fine. She just forgot her phone. Or it died. That's all.
Right?
But a splinter of doubt jabbed deeper, the way doubt always did when silence overstayed its welcome.
He unlocked his phone and called her.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Voicemail.
He hung up fast. Called again. This time it went straight to voicemail.
The fear sharpened.
He didn't even realize he was chewing the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
They're fine. They're fine. They're just late. Don't be insane.
His fingers hovered over Cassian's contact. He had a phone now, some cheap kid version with limited minutes. It barely worked. But maybe
He tapped the name. Ringing. Then:
"Hey, this is Cassian. If you're calling, I probably hate you."
Beep.
Auren hung up with a groan, running his hands through his hair. He couldn't sit here. Couldn't just wait.
His eyes drifted to the front door again.
The wind had picked up outside.
The curtain moved slightly as a breeze crept in through a draft in the window. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, sharp and lonely.
Auren stood again. Walked to the kitchen. Stared at the back door now, like maybe they'd appear from there, arms full of groceries and smiles, Cassian already complaining about the baby kicking him in the ribs the whole ride.
But the baby seat was still empty in the car.
And the groceries weren't unpacked.
He rubbed at his face again. His eyes burned. A cold sweat clung to the back of his neck.
He opened the fridge for no reason, stared at the contents without seeing them, then shut it again.
The clock ticked on.
And the house remained unbearably still.
Auren sat back down at the table. Same chair. Same spot.
He leaned forward this time, resting his head in his hands. His pulse thudded in his ears. His mouth was dry. He couldn't shake the sensation that something had shifted. That something important had…broken.
He should've said I love you back.
Why hadn't he?
His voice had just…stuck. Trapped behind his teeth. It wasn't even about pride. He was just so tired of everything being complicated. Of things being left unsaid. Of feeling like someone just handed him pieces of a puzzle with half of them missing and told him to build a family with it.
But now… maybe he had let too much stay unspoken.
Maybe she thought he didn't mean it anymore.
Maybe
The sound of a car outside made him shoot up, heart hammering.
He ran to the window and pulled the curtain aside
And saw nothing.
Just a neighbor pulling into their own driveway. Not her. Not them.
His fingers curled tighter around the windowsill.
The fear was no longer subtle. It was a living thing now. Crawling up his throat. Clawing at his ribs.
He sat back down. Again. The silence wrapped itself around him like fog, thick and unmoving.
He reached for his phone one more time, just to check.
Still nothing.
Only the clock, ticking its quiet judgment from the wall above.
And the echo of her voice, soft and steady:
"I'll be back soon."
-
The knock came soft at first.
Not like in movies. Not thunderous. Not commanding.
Just a gentle tap-tap-tap, like someone who didn't want to startle him.
Auren blinked, his neck stiff from sitting in the same hunched position too long. The sound had felt out of place at firstlike it belonged in someone else's evening. He sat up, half-expecting it to have been imagined, the way shadows sometimes shifted when your eyes got tired.
Then it came again.
A little louder.
He shot to his feet.
His chair scraped back hard against the tile, the legs shrieking across the floor. He barely noticed. His heartbeat was in his ears now, deafening and frantic, blood rushing so fast it made him dizzy. His socks slipped slightly on the kitchen floor as he rushed toward the front door.
They were back.
She was back.
She was probably juggling a diaper bag and groceries and trying not to wake Lio. Maybe Cass had fallen asleep in the backseat. Maybe her phone had really died.
He could still fix it.
He could still tell her he was sorry. That he loved her. That he didn't mean to bring up their dad like that. That he never should've pushed her on a night that was supposed to be about something goodsomething normal.
He could still say it.
His hand closed around the doorknob. "Mom, I'm so-"
He opened the door.
The words dried in his throat.
It wasn't her.
It wasn't them.
Two police officers stood on the porch. A woman and a man. Both in uniform. Both wearing expressions so carefully arranged that it made them more terrifying. The porch light cast a too-harsh glow across their faces, bleaching the color from their skin and giving them a waxy, unreal appearance.
"Are you Auren Everen?" the woman asked gently.
He nodded.
His mouth was open, but no sound came out.
He stared past them. Down the driveway. At the empty street. No car. No baby seat. No diaper bag. No Cassian yawning with his arms crossed.
Just two officers. Just the wrong people.
"I'm Officer Phelps. This is Officer Rendon," the woman said. Her voice was soft. Trained. Measured. "Can we come in for a moment?"
Auren took a step back automatically. He didn't answer. His legs moved on their own.
The officers entered.
The air shifted behind them. The night stayed at the door.
Auren felt it before they even sat down. That feelinglike the walls were about to cave in, but everything still looked normal. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air is too still, too quiet, and your body knows something before your mind can.
"Is your mother Elira Everen?" Officer Phelps asked, though she already knew the answer.
Auren's lips moved. "Yes," he said, barely audible.
She nodded slowly.
"There was an accident," she said.
And that was when time… wobbled.
Like a film reel skipping a frame. Auren blinked and the room tilted. The words didn't mean anything at first. Accident. The syllables hung in the air, suspended in molasses. He looked from one officer to the other, but their faces didn't change. They were watching him. Closely. Carefully.
Auren shook his head slightly.
"No," he said.
He wasn't even sure what he was denying.
"There was a collision on Highway 4 around 7:40 this evening," Officer Rendon continued, his voice slower. He was older than the woman, with tired eyes and a deep crease between his brows. "We believe your mother's car was struck by a pickup truck that ran a red light. The impact was… severe."
Severe.
Another word that didn't land.
Another word with no weightyet.
"We have reason to believe your mother and your younger brothers were in the vehicle at the time."
Were.
Were.
Not are.
Auren's hands were cold. He realized he was gripping the edge of the kitchen counter now, standing. His vision was starting to ripple at the edges, like heat waves.
"They were transported to Mercy General," Officer Phelps said carefully. "The infant, Leo"
"Lio," Auren choked out. "His name is Lio."
She nodded once, gently. "Lio was pronounced dead on arrival."
The room went silent.
Dead.
She'd said it so carefully. So gently.
But it still sounded like the universe breaking in half.
Auren's mouth opened again, but nothing came out. His knees buckled slightly. He didn't sithe just… collapsed backward into the nearest chair.
"They did everything they could," she continued. "Cassian and your mother were both alive at the scene. Paramedics attempted to stabilize them during transport, but…"
He wasn't listening anymore.
Not really.
He was seeing the spoon on the rug. The blue one with the bite mark.
He was seeing Lio's car seat.
The frosting on his cake.
The baby's pajamas in the laundry hamper.
"I didn't say I love you," Auren whispered suddenly, voice trembling.
The officers paused.
He looked up at them. His eyes were glassy now, and his breath hitched. "She said it, but I didn't say it back. II just stood there. I let her go."
Officer Rendon gently took a step closer but didn't touch him. "Auren"
"I didn't say it back," he said again, a little louder this time.
And then
He broke.
It wasn't a cinematic scream. It wasn't a dramatic collapse.
It was quieter than that. More brutal.
It started with a breath that caught in his chest and didn't make it out. Then another. Then his hands were shaking and his shoulders curled inward and his entire body felt too small to contain the grief that detonated inside him.
He folded over in the chair, his hands covering his face, and let out a sound that was more animal than human. Like something was being torn out of him.
He wasn't crying. He was mourning.
Mourning what had been lost.
Mourning what had almost been said.
Mourning the last words that would never be enough.