Nicolas Cage sat quietly in his study, the phone still in his hand, the news repeating in his head like a cruel echo: Lisa Marie is gone.
He hadn’t seen her in years, yet the memory of her laugh rang as fresh in his mind as the day they met. That laugh — wild, untamed, and honest — could crack open even the heaviest room. And now, silence.
Their marriage was a whirlwind: short, intense, and unforgettable. They had burned bright, too bright, perhaps, to last. “We’re both so dramatic and dynamic,” Lisa once said in an interview, and Nicolas never disagreed. Their love was a storm, and like all storms, it passed.
Now, as tributes flooded in from around the world, Cage whispered to the quiet:
“She lit up every room.”
He imagined her reunited with Benjamin, holding his face in her hands, mother and son at peace. That thought, the only balm to the sting of loss.
He opened an old photo album tucked on a forgotten shelf — one picture, blurry and candid, caught her mid-laugh. The sound, though gone from the world, filled the room once more.
And in that moment, Nicolas smiled through his tears.
Some people don’t just live — they leave echoes.
