Out Loud Thoughts

Eponine had never asked for much.

Well…that wasn’t entirely true.

She asked for cuddles.

She asked for lap time.

She asked for pets.

She asked for someone to admire how beautiful she was.

And if no one noticed her for a few minutes, she would politely—but persistently—remind them that she was available for petting.

Eric always laughed.

“She’s the baby,” he would say.

Then he would scoop her into his arms, rub her soft cheeks, and smile.

“She is so stinking cute.”

Eponine agreed completely.

For years, Eric was her favorite person.

She followed him from room to room, curled beside him while he watched television, and happily accepted every scratch behind the ears he offered. She never thought there could be too much affection.

Then one day, everything changed.

Eric left home.

Karen came and went with worried eyes and tired smiles. She smelled like hospitals instead of home. Every time the front door opened, Eponine hurried to greet her, looking past her legs.

“Did you bring Eric home?”

But he wasn’t there.

One afternoon, Karen carried Eponine into a strange place filled with unfamiliar sounds.

Machines beeped.

Voices whispered.

The air smelled nothing like home.

There was Eric.

His face lit up when he saw her.

“Hi Eponine,” he whispered.

Her heart leaped.

She wanted to jump into his lap the way she always had. She wanted to nuzzle beneath his hand and purr while he told her she was the baby.

Instead, she stopped.

There were tubes.

There were wires.

There were machines surrounding the man she loved.

Nothing felt familiar.

Carefully, she explored the room and stayed close enough for Eric to see her. She wanted to cuddle beside him, but she was afraid. She didn’t understand the equipment or the strange room. She only knew that the safest place she’d ever known no longer looked safe.

Eric gently reached over to pet her.

For a few precious moments, everything else disappeared.

Karen watched quietly, wishing time would stop.

When it was time to leave, she carried Eponine back home.

After Eric died, the house became unbearably quiet.

Karen cried.

Sometimes she smiled at a memory before the tears returned.

Eponine couldn’t understand why Eric never came home.

She only knew she missed him.

And she wanted someone to hold her.

So she became Karen’s little shadow.

If Karen sat down, Eponine climbed into her lap.

If Karen lay on the couch, Eponine curled against her side.

If Karen stood still for more than a minute, Eponine rubbed against her legs, asking for pets.

She had always wanted all the cuddles she could get.

Now she needed them more than ever.

Karen wanted to give Eponine all the love in the world.

But there was Marius.

Marius missed Eric too.

His grief looked different.

He hid in closets.

He disappeared under furniture.

Sometimes he cried until Karen petted him.

And sometimes, when Eponine came looking for cuddles, Marius lashed out with a hiss or a quick swat.

His heart hurt so much that it spilled onto everyone around him.

Eponine would blink in surprise and quietly walk away.

She didn’t understand why her brother was angry.

She only knew they were both searching for the same person.

When bedtime came, Eponine made her choice.

Every night, she climbed onto Karen’s bed and curled close beside her.

Sometimes she nestled against Karen’s shoulder.

Sometimes she stretched out beside her legs.

Sometimes she simply rested one soft paw against Karen, as if making sure she wasn’t alone.

Karen would stroke her silky fur until the loud, familiar purring filled the quiet room.

Neither of them slept exactly the way they used to.

But together, they found a little comfort in the darkness.

Slowly, the three of them began finding their way through grief together.

Karen learned to hold Marius when he needed reassurance.

She learned to save plenty of cuddles for Eponine, who never stopped asking for love.

Marius slowly remembered that Eponine wasn’t the reason Eric was gone.

And Eponine kept doing what she’d always done best.

She loved with her whole heart.

Sometimes, while stroking Eponine’s impossibly soft fur, Karen could almost hear Eric’s voice.

“She’s the baby.”

Then she’d smile through her tears and finish the sentence for him.

“She is so stinking cute.”

Eponine would look up with bright, trusting eyes and begin to purr.

Loudly.

As if she knew those words were still true.

Because they were.

Love doesn’t end when someone dies.

It echoes in familiar sayings.

It lives in gentle hands remembered.

It lingers in the routines that once filled a home.

And every time Eponine climbs into Karen’s lap, curls up beside her in bed, or asks for just one more cuddle, a little piece of Eric’s love is there too.

She is still the baby.

She is still so stinking cute.

And she will always be loved.