Journey of a lost mind

Previously

…"I'll go tomorrow," Sam said. "I'll go to the solicitor's office." "I'll drive you," Clara said. They sat in silence, drinking their tea, the stars wheeling overhead. The hospice lights glowed warm through the windows. The garden was still and quiet. Sam closed their eyes. The memory of Lily was there, not just the death, but the life. The laugh. The rain. The tube of paint. And now a letter, waiting to be opened. Tomorrow. Nine o'clock. Sam took a deep breath, the cold air filling their lungs. The cerulean blue was in their pocket, a small, solid weight. The notebook was in their lap, a second heart. They were still here. They were still breathing.