I knew it was possible.
I just hadn’t thought it would happen.
She’d had a stroke. I looked closer as part of the right side of her face sagged just a bit; only noticeable to someone who was obsessed with every angle of her.
“Maybe…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “…we should call the hospice nurse, just in case.”
Typically, our nurse only checked in once a day.
I dreaded the time I’d have to call her to stay more than an hour.
The time was upon us.
Andi shook her head and reached for my hand. She gripped it tight, which wasn’t tight; it was weak, again making me feel sick to my stomach.
“Please, wait, just… just until the sunrise.”
I licked my lips, not sure if I should wait. I mean, what if?
“Please,” she begged. “Things always look better in the morning, right? And it’s not morning yet. Technically, it’s still night. So wait until morning, wait until the sun shines on a new day, and we’ll call.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She sighed and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Good, now let’s put a chair in front of the window and watch. Let’s watch life together.”
It was the last good day we had.
That was cancer for you. It had no schedule, no timetable — it just was. One day she was laughing and joking with me.
The next…
She was a shell of her former self.
A week had gone by since her stroke.
A week where I watched my wife, the love of my life, fade before my very eyes. The weight continued to fall off; her appetite was nonexistent; muscle deteriorated. It was almost like I was watching the cancer actually eat her.
I tried to cheer her up.
We watched movies in bed. I sang to her even — though I sang like shit.
And when she was too tired to read…
I read to her.
Her stupid historical romance books.
About dukes and London and far away kingdoms that no longer existed in society.
She loved it.
So I loved it.
“Shergio…” Andi slurred, her speech had started to go, especially at night. “Promise me another sunset.”
“I promise.” I kissed her forehead. “Sleep.”
She fell asleep within seconds.
I set the book down and left the room, not because I wanted to be away from her, but because I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I’d been too consumed by her.
Too sad.
It was around eight at night when I made it down to the kitchen.
Chase was pulling something out of the oven. Frank was pouring wine, and the rest of the group paused.
It wasn’t awkward, just… depressing.
“My other bitch made food,” Tex finally blurted.
And suddenly everything was right again.
I cracked a smile. “He better have buttered my bread.
“You slut, butter your own bread!” Chase snapped.
I laughed.
Probably for the first time in a week.
Fighting commenced over dinner.
Four bottles of wine all but disappeared, and I knew, one day, maybe not soon, I’d be okay. Because I had family — I really had family.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Andi
I FELT IT.
Maybe that was normal — maybe not. But it was like an alarm clock had suddenly gone off in my heart, beckoning me, calling to me. And a peace like I’d never experienced in my entire life fell over me. It was warm, like a blanket on a cold winter’s night.
I woke up from my sleep and smiled a real smile — like the ones I saved for Sergio and only Sergio.
I looked around the room. Things had been set into motion, the plans for his life set, even though he had no idea.
I’d done what I could.
And I’d done well; I knew that in my soul. The peace I felt in that moment was enough to help me get out of bed.
I wrapped an afghan around me and kissed Sergio on the top of his head. He stirred, then woke up just as I walked out of the room.
He would follow.
He would always follow.
But this was the last time he’d do such a thing. It was the last time he’d follow me, and that was how it should be, how it was supposed to be.
I ran my fingers along the wood banister as I made my way down the stairs, my naked feet sinking into the warm plush carpet. The house smelled like pasta; I imagined they’d had a really good meal the night before — with wine and laughter.
Good. He would need that.
A lot of it.
Night blanketed the house, its shadows casting a comforting glow as I finally found myself in the main entryway.
I heard Sergio’s soft steps behind me.
I opened the front door and walked outside. The moon was starting to set, the sun just beginning to peek from the east.
The smell of winter was long gone, and spring was starting to seep its way into the atmosphere with its growth, its life.
It was poetic really, if I thought about it. The timing… more perfect than I’d originally thought.
One step.
Two.
Three… and I was walking out into the field, the same field I’d run into in my wedding dress when my husband had pissed me off.
Again, so poetic, so romantic that this was where life had brought us.
Together.
In that same field.
I blinked back the tears as I watched the sky swirl with life.
I would miss him.
Desperately.
Our time had been short.
But it had been good.
And that’s how life is measured — not by the length, but by the strength of those moments spent together.