A Glass Too Heavy

Jack sat alone in the darkness of his apartment, a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table and a half-empty glass in his hand. The room reeked of stale liquor and unwashed clothes, a tomb for the life he had lived before Sophie. Her picture still hung on the wall, framed in brushed silver, the only thing untouched by the chaos. She smiled in that photo, her eyes bright, her laugh frozen in time. Jack couldn’t look at it without feeling like the walls were closing in.

It had been eighteen months since Sophie died. Eighteen months since the crash. Rain had slicked the roads that night, and Sophie, ever confident in her driving, had insisted on taking the long way home. Jack had been on the phone with her when it happened. One moment, she was talking about their weekend plans. The next, there was a gasp, the screech of tires, and silence.

He had replayed that moment a thousand times, trying to remember if he had said I love you before the call ended. He wasn’t sure. That uncertainty ate away at him more than anything.

Jack lifted the glass to his lips and took a long sip. The burn of the bourbon was familiar now, comforting in a way nothing else was. He wasn’t drinking to remember her anymore. He was drinking to forget himself.

The apartment door rattled, and Jack’s heart jumped. He wasn’t expecting anyone. The knock that followed was hesitant but firm. Jack ignored it. Whoever it was would go away.

The knock came again. “Jack, I know you’re in there.”

It was Paul—Sophie’s younger brother. Jack groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. The last thing he needed was Paul looking at him like he was a lost puppy.

“Jack, open the door.”

With a sigh, Jack pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he made his way to the door. He opened it just enough to glare at Paul. “What do you want?”

Paul’s face tightened as he took in Jack’s disheveled state. His eyes swept over the room behind him—the cluttered floor, the empty bottles, the curtains drawn against the sunlight. “We need to talk,” Paul said, stepping inside before Jack could protest.

Jack slammed the door shut and leaned against it. “I don’t need a lecture.”

Paul turned to face him, his arms crossed. “You don’t need a lecture. You need help.”

“I’m fine,” Jack muttered, shuffling back to the couch.

“Fine?” Paul barked a laugh. “Jack, you’ve been drinking yourself into oblivion since Sophie died. You’ve lost your job, your friends… hell, even Mom and Dad don’t know how to reach you anymore.”

Jack flinched. “Don’t bring them into this.”

Paul softened his tone. “I’m not here to fight. But you can’t keep doing this. Sophie wouldn’t want this for you.”

“Don’t,” Jack snapped, his voice sharp. “Don’t tell me what Sophie would or wouldn’t want.”

Paul hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. But what do you want, Jack? To sit here until you drink yourself to death?”

Jack didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

After Paul left, Jack poured himself another drink. The glass felt heavier this time, his hand trembling as he raised it to his lips. Paul’s words clung to him like smoke, suffocating and impossible to ignore.

What did he want? Jack stared at Sophie’s photo, her smile cutting through the haze of his thoughts. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that.

He downed the drink in one gulp and reached for the bottle. But this time, he stopped. His hand hovered over the neck of the bottle, his mind racing. For the first time in months, the bourbon didn’t feel like the answer. It felt like the problem.

The next morning, Jack woke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. He hadn’t opened the curtains in months, but he could still hear them. They sounded too cheerful, like the world was mocking his misery.

He sat up slowly, his head pounding. His mouth tasted like regret and stale bourbon. Paul’s visit had shaken something loose in him, and for the first time, he found himself wondering if he could climb out of the hole he’d dug for himself.

Jack picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found a name he hadn’t called in over a year: Margie. She owned the diner where he and Sophie used to have breakfast every Sunday. Margie had always liked Sophie, and by extension, Jack. He wasn’t sure she’d still want to see him, but he didn’t have many options.

The diner smelled like coffee and grease, just as Jack remembered. Margie looked up from behind the counter, her eyes widening when she saw him.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, setting down the coffee pot. “Jack Nolan. Thought we lost you.”

Jack managed a weak smile. “Not yet.”

Margie waved him over to the counter, pouring him a cup of coffee without asking. “You look like hell.”

“Feel like it, too,” Jack admitted, wrapping his hands around the warm mug.

Margie leaned on the counter, her expression softening. “Been a while. How’re you holding up?”

Jack hesitated. “Not great.”

Margie nodded, her gaze steady. “Figured as much. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jack looked down at the coffee. “I don’t know what to do, Margie. It’s like… I can’t move on, but I can’t keep doing this either.”

Margie studied him for a moment, then reached across the counter to pat his hand. “You start by taking one step at a time, Jack. First step? Put the bottle down.”

Jack nodded, though the thought of going without a drink made his chest tighten. “And then what?”

“Then you keep going,” Margie said. “You’re not going to feel better overnight, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”

The days that followed were some of the hardest of Jack’s life. The first day without a drink felt like torture, his body screaming for the poison he’d been feeding it for months. The second day wasn’t much better. He spent most of it pacing his apartment, his hands shaking as he fought the urge to reach for the bottle.

But Margie’s words stuck with him. One step at a time.

He started walking to the diner every morning, his visits with Margie becoming a lifeline. She didn’t push, didn’t lecture. She just listened, offering coffee and a place where Jack didn’t feel completely alone.

Paul started checking in more often, too. At first, Jack bristled at his presence, but over time, he found himself grateful for the company. Paul didn’t try to fix him; he just sat with him, talking about Sophie and sharing memories that didn’t hurt quite as much as they used to.

Weeks turned into months, and Jack began to feel like a different person. The weight of Sophie’s absence was still there, but it didn’t crush him like it used to. He found himself opening the curtains, letting the sunlight back into his life. He even started going back to the park where he and Sophie used to walk on Sunday mornings.

One day, Jack stood by the lake, the rippling water reflecting the sky above. He pulled Sophie’s photo from his jacket pocket, holding it gently in his hands. Her smile still hurt to look at, but it also brought a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’m trying, Sophie,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop missing you. But I think… I think you’d be proud of me.”

For the first time in years, Jack felt a flicker of peace. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Jack didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t going back to the bottom of the glass. Sophie had been his light, and though she was gone, he was learning how to carry her with him in a way that didn’t break him.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could see the path ahead. One step at a time.