C5 Chapter 5: Ashes of the Past

The roar of Ethan Blake’s car engine softened to a low hum as he pulled into the crematorium’s gravel driveway. The winter wind bit through the air, ruffling the branches of bare trees that lined the quiet lot. Ethan stepped out of his car, his towering frame framed by the dull gray sky above. A bouquet of pristine white roses rested in his large hands, their softness a stark contrast to the hard edges of the world around him.

The crunch of gravel under his polished shoes filled the silence as he walked toward the niches. Two polished plaques gleamed under the dim sunlight:

Mrs. Jane F. Blake

Mr. Jonathan Blake

His steps faltered as he reached them. For a moment, he stood utterly still, his dark almond-shaped eyes fixated on the names etched into the cold stone. With a measured breath, he knelt, placing the roses gently against the base of the plaques. His fingers lingered there, tracing the letters of their names like a silent prayer to people he no longer believed could hear him.

He straightened, his broad shoulders stiff but trembling under the weight of memories. It had been fifteen years since the day his world crumbled, yet the pain clung to him, fresh as a wound never allowed to heal.

Ethan’s mind pulled him back to that fateful afternoon. He was twelve, a gangly boy with an eager smile, standing at the porch steps of his grandparents' home. His grandmother had promised him maple cookies, and his grandfather had joked about hiding them all for himself. The laughter had filled their home like music, warm and unbreakable.

But the news had come, shattering that warmth like glass.

The plane crash.

The words still echoed in his mind, heavy and suffocating. He had waited for them, clinging to hope like a lifeline, only to see their lifeless bodies return in polished coffins. Their voices silenced, their laughter stolen.

Ethan blinked, dragging himself back to the present. His voice, usually deep and soothing, was unsteady as it broke the silence.

“You said God was always watching over us,” he murmured, his gaze locked on his grandmother’s name. “But where was He then? Where was He when you and Grandpa needed Him the most?”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly cleared his throat, refusing to let emotion overtake him. His grandmother’s unwavering faith had been a cornerstone of her life. She’d knelt in prayer every night, her soft whispers of devotion a comforting lullaby. But to Ethan, God had become an absent guardian, blind to his pain.

From that day on, he’d stopped believing.

The breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of pine from the nearby woods. For a brief moment, it reminded Ethan of his grandfather’s earthy cologne—a scent that had always lingered in the air after a warm hug or a firm pat on the back.

His jaw tightened, his sharp features shadowed with grief.

“Fifteen years,” he said softly, shaking his head. “And I still can’t let go.”

The world knew Ethan Blake as a man of precision and control, a surgeon whose hands worked miracles, a figure as imposing as he was admired. But here, in front of the only people who had ever made him feel whole, he was just a boy grieving the loss of his family.

He stood, his tall frame silhouetted against the gray sky, and took a final look at the plaques.

“I hope you’re somewhere better,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Even if I can’t believe it.”

Turning away, Ethan walked back to his car. The wind tugged at his coat as he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. As the engine roared to life, his mind echoed with the memory of his grandmother’s laughter and his grandfather’s steady voice.

He drove off, the white roses swaying in the breeze, left behind as a quiet testament to a love that time could never erase.

---