We realized it was over as we sat in the garden, the wind whooshing softly around our ears, the flowers creating a false sense of peace. The sun beamed dimly down upon us, but we felt no heat. We were smothered in frost.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” The man in the black suit spoke. I turned my head away and looked at Leo. His head faced his lap and he was still as a statue. His pain orbed through me.
All that we had worked so hard for, all that we had strived for, was broken down in that one moment of us all in the room with the needles and bags of blood. In the room with the beeping machines and doctors with clipboards. And in that one moment of maybe-yes and maybe-no, in that one moment of shaking hands and dried out eyes, she quit. And from that moment on, it was over. And here Leo and I sat now, at the celebration of her life, with nothing to comfort us, but the vague shadow of a memory.

People inched towards us after the procession, sending us words of needless and pointless love. But it passed over us like the wind still whooshing in our ears. Everything was over.