18 francesca
I shouldn’t have come back.
Gram is already gone. There’s nothing left for me to fix, nothing I can undo. I missed saying goodbye. I missed being here when it mattered. I missed all of it.
“I- I should go,” I say, pushing myself to my feet.
Both of their heads snap toward me at the same time. They stand, and something in Christian’s expression shifts, hardening.
“You’re leaving again?” he asks, his voice tight. “Just like that?”
“I just- I don’t know what I thought I was doing,” I say, my voice cracking. “I saw the obituary. Later- after…” I suck in a shaky breath. “I missed it.”
The words come faster after that, tripping over each other.
“I didn’t know she was gone and then suddenly she just… was, and it was over and everyone had already said goodbye and I… hadn’t. ” My throat tightens painfully. “I don’t know why I came back. I just… wanted…” My throat closes and I can’t say anymore.
Christian’s jaw ticks. Jamie just stares at me, shaking his head slightly, like he can’t decide if this is a joke or exactly what he expected.
“She left you a letter. You should at least take that with you before you disappear again,” Christians says. His voice is cold, clipped.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and heads down the hallway toward Gram’s room.
I sink back onto the couch, my legs giving out before I can pretend otherwise. Jamie still doesn’t look at me. Not once.
Christian comes back a minute later, an envelope in his hand. He stops in front of me, his gaze dropping briefly to it before he holds it out.
“I told her you weren’t coming back,” he says. “But she still had hope.”
I take it, my fingers not quite steady.
“I didn’t read it,” he adds.
He sits on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Jamie drops down beside him, mirroring the posture, head hanging, the two of them silent in a way that feels heavier than anything they could say.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, tracing my fingers over Gram’s handwriting.
“How… what happened?” I ask, sounding nervous and I’m not sure if its cause I don’t want to know or I don’t feel like I deserve to.
“Her heart,” Christian says without hesitation. “It was already weak, and after you left it just… got worse. We had hospice in and out for the last six months. The last week was rough, but she wasn’t in pain. I made sure of that.”
Of course he did. I close my eyes as tears spill over, guilt and gratitude twisting together in my chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I- I’ll read this later.”
I can’t open it. Not yet.
Silence settles over us again, heavy and tense.
And then-
“Where the fuck have you been, Francesca?”