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#2. Bereaved – She wasn't good at saying sorry, even with all that had changed. Gwen/Trent, Trent/Heather friendship. Trent's PoV.

The first thing I'd said when I learned she had passed on was 'why?' It wasn't anything romantic, nor grief-filled, just a question.

A stupid question, too. I knew why. She'd suffered a heart attack from the stress of both her brother and mother dying three months prior in a car crash.

She was thirty-two, I was thirty-one. We'd married at twenty-four. She'd given birth at twenty-nine. Our son was three, and his mother was dead. He didn't understand, and neither did I.

Sometimes life isn't fair, which was quite obvious to me by this point. I'd known this little fact was annoyingly true ever since Heather had tricked me into thinking Gwen was using me back at camp so many years ago.

Gwen…her name made the memories rush back, so I focused on something else.

Heather. Sure, she'd been mean back when she was a teenager, but, surprisingly, she was the first one who found out about Gwen, the first one to call, to send flowers, to cry for me.

She offered to take me out on her yacht in Italy, try to cheer me up. I'd accepted after numerous weeks, and that's why I was on a plane right now. Heading from Canada to Sicily. Our – no, my (I sniffled at the thought of this) son was on my lap, asleep.

Heather had told me specifically to bring Nathan, although I would have anyway. She had a four-year old daughter by some other man whom she had eventually divorced, and thought the two would play well together.

She was there when I arrived in Sicily, smiling with her daughter. We took her car, some kind of Lexus, I didn't really care, to her fancy Victorian-style, four-story house.

She'd become a neurosurgeon at the age of twenty-nine. By thirty-two she was filthy rich.

I wasn't jealous, I'd gone on to be a country rock star and Gwen was – had been – a famous journalist. We had plenty of money of our own, but we didn't flaunt it like Heather.

Some things never really change, apparently.

Speaking of which, I didn't know just how fast I was on the yacht, looking out into the sea and moping about Gwen.

Heather's hand touched my shoulder, and when I looked back, she wore a sad smile, while trying to offer me one of a few sandwiches she had made. I declined, and she walked away, knowing I needed the time to myself.

Nathan and Heather's daughter, Sarah, had taken to the comfortable hammocks in the cabin and were taking a nap. So; I was alone.

But Gwen was on my mind.

I didn't know what happened next. I was inside the cabin, crying, Heather embracing me in a hug that screamed 'I'm sorry, Trent, for everything you've been through.'

She wasn't good at saying sorry, even with all that had changed.

I feel bad for this one, but I do like the way it came out. Hope you like it too. :D