Forty-nine
Lily
My breath catches, a dry, ragged gasp that barely fills my lungs. Each shallow intake is a desperate fight against the growing fog in my mind. Why am I so cold? It’s ninety degrees outside, yet an icy chill has settled deep in my bones, spreading outwards like a slow poison.
My gaze drifts, heavy and unfocused, to Ethan. He’s still there, lying on his back, facing me. His chest rises and falls with a steady, quiet rhythm. He looks so peaceful.
But life can be so cruel. To offer such a beautiful gift, only to snatch it away in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but this agonizing void.
I want to reach for him, to feel the warmth of his skin one last time, to anchor myself to his presence. But my limbs feel cemented to the pier, heavy and unresponsive. An overwhelming exhaustion has claimed every muscle, every nerve. I try to moisten my lips, but my tongue refuses to move.
My heart beats so slowly, like a tired, weary drum.
The world is narrowing, the edges blurring, and all I can cling to as the darkness closes in, is the whisper of a desperate plea: Thank you for our second chance and for loving me so deeply.
I will go in peace because of you. Take care of our children. I’ll see you again soon, my love.