They were sitting outside on the terrace again. It was a warm night, one of those were you never got cold and didn´t have to go inside. Just like every summer in this region. He was talking about her as always when he was drunk. And only when he was drunk. Crying, sobbing. His pain was so endless, so all-consuming, it was so thick, you could almost touch it. It was all he was. He would tell her the same stories over and over again. About how much he loved her mother. There was no process, no healing, no hope. There was only despair. Because he didn´t want to be here anymore. He had wanted to kill himself after she had died. It was his wish. It was the only thing he wanted these days. But she had made him promise not to. She had asked him to stick around and take care of his girls and their grandchild that was on the way. He had promised and so he stayed. But not because he wanted to stick around. He didn´t stay for his children or grandchild. Loyalty was the only reason he stayed. He couldn´t bring himself to break his promise. He would have done everything for his wife, the love of his life, his life. And he would keep on doing everything he could for her even after she had passed away. And so he did the only thing he was able to do. Drink whenever he was not working. Sticking around. Spending all summer with his daughter on the terrace telling her that he was only here because her mother had asked him to stay.