68. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
The apartment is quiet, too quiet. The funeral is over, the people are gone, and the weight of today is settling in, dragging every part of me under.
I’m not built to handle this.
Kinsley and Wes refuse to leave, and I’m actually glad they don’t. I don’t know if I’d be able to sit in this silence alone right now.
We’re curled up in the living room—Wes is in the armchair, Kinsley is beside me on the couch. The TV is on, playing some show none of us are really watching, just background noise to keep the grief from being too loud.
I feel off. My body aches in a way that isn’t just sadness. My stomach has been twisting in on itself all day, and no matter how still I sit, the nausea lingers.
Kinsley notices. She always does. She’s been by my side all day, keeping an arm around me, pressing water bottles into my hands, whispering that I need to eat something.
But I can’t. The heaviness is too much. The sadness won’t let me think about taking care of myself.
I lean back against the couch cushions, exhaling slowly.
Kinsley nudges my knee with hers. “You okay?”
I nod weakly. “Just…exhausted.”
Her lips press together like she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push.
For a while, we just sit there. Then Wes shifts forward in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face before he gets up, disappearing into the guest room for a moment. When he comes back, there’s a box in his hands.
He doesn’t sit back down. He just kneels in front of me, placing the box gently in my lap.
“Cam told me to give it to you after the funeral. When he knew you’d need it the most,” he says, his voice straining.
For a second, I can’t move. I’m trying really hard not to cry.
I sit there, staring down at the box in my lap, feeling the weight of it—not just physically, but emotionally. It’s him. It’s another piece of him.
A new piece of him…
What a gift…what a cruel gift.
I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I can be ready for whatever is in here. But my hands move anyway, my fingers holding onto the edges of the lid, lifting it open.
I reach for the first item, and see that it’s a letter. In his handwriting.
The moment I see my name scrawled across the top, my vision blurs.
Gabrielle, my love,
I don’t know how much time I have left, but I know it’s not enough. Not for me. Not for us.
I wanted forever with you. I wanted a lifetime of lazy Sunday mornings and stupid inside jokes, of dancing in the kitchen and holding you close every night. I wanted all the moments we never got to have.
I wanted what should have been ours.
I’m sorry that’s being taken away like this.
But if there’s one thing I’ll never regret, it’s loving you.
Loving you was the best thing I ever did in my life.
You were the first girl that I ever loved, and I’m blessed that you also get to be the last. You were actually my only love, though, Gabrielle.
And I need you to know how special of a person you are and the lasting effect you had on my life.
You made this life worth every minute I had here on earth. Thank you for the way you loved me to the fullest.
And I need you to promise me something, okay?
I need you to keep going. I know that’s a hard thing to ask because if the roles were reversed, I don’t think I would survive without you, but I need to know that when I go, you’ll still find a way to live.
Not just survive. Live. And be happy still.
I can’t stomach the thought of you losing your light.
The thing I loved the most about you should still be shared with the rest of the world.
Laugh. Travel. Chase the dreams we talked about.
Let yourself love again when you’re ready.
And when the weight of missing me feels unbearable, look for me in the little things—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the whisper of the wind, the songs we loved, the night sky we always stared at together for far too long.
And when your time comes (a lifetime from now), I’ll be right where I promised, waiting for you.
Until then, keep going, Gabrielle. For me. For yourself.
I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you.
Yours, always,
Cam
Tears blur the ink in front of me as I clutch the letter to my chest.
It’s him and all his love wrapped into each and every word.
I press my shaky fingers to my lips, squeezing my eyes shut. Kinsley moves beside me, locking her hand with mine, squeezing softly in silent support.
A watery laugh escapes me. “He was too good for this world, Kins.”
I tilt my head back, whispering to the ceiling. “I will always love you, too, Cam.”
I pull out the next item, and my breathing stops.
It’s a framed napkin.
And not just any napkin.
It’s our napkin.
And he’s added to it—
Sick Kid Club Rules.
1. No crying unless absolutely necessary.
(Exceptions: If you get stuck with a really big needle. If your favorite nurse goes on vacation. Or if the cafeteria runs out of chocolate pudding and we’re stuck with vanilla.)
It’s okay to cry, Gabrielle. You can break this rule whenever you need and as often as you need.
2. Complaining about hospital food is mandatory.
(If you eat the mystery meat without complaining, you will be investigated for suspicious behavior.)
Just maybe try to stay out of the hospital, okay? And you won’t have to deal with this one.
3. If one of us gets rich or famous, the other gets half the money.
(Doesn’t matter how. Could be sports, singing, or a dramatic escape from this place that gets turned into a movie.)
I’m sorry I didn’t get rich and famous, so I guess you’ll have to now.
4. IV pole races are a sacred tradition.
(Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to steal an extra pudding cup for the champion.)
Honestly, if you could pull this off with Wes at the hospital, I’d be pretty impressed and smiling down on you.
5. Nurses are only allowed if they bring snacks or spill hospital drama.
(Bonus points if they tell us which doctors secretly hate each other.)
If you still want all of the tea about the nurses and doctors, just ask Wes. He’s the biggest gossip girl I know.
6. Any new sick kid must pass a vibe check before joining.
(They have to prove they’re funny, good at keeping secrets, and willing to break minor hospital rules.)
If Maya made it, tell her I said she can finally join the Sick Kid Club like I promised. She was always so insistent that she got to join when I told her about it.
7. Fake diseases must be diagnosed at least once per chemo session.
(Example: “Acute Jell-O Deficiency” or “Advanced Poked-To-Death-itis.”)
Diagnosis: Severe Post-Cam Heartbreak Syndrome (SCHS)
Symptoms:
· Persistent aching in the chest (most commonly triggered by thinking about my stupidly handsome face)
· Uncontrollable crying at random times of the day
· An overwhelming urge to yell at the sky for how unfair life is
· Inability to sleep without stealing my hoodies and sleeping with them
· Sudden bursts of laughter at memories that shouldn’t be funny but somehow are
Prognosis: 100% survivable, but only with proper treatment.
Cure:
· One daily hug from Kinsley and at least three sarcastic insults from Wes every week.
· An unlimited supply of hot chocolate (marshmallows mandatory)
· Wearing my hoodies until it basically becomes part of your skin.
· Talking to me like I’m still there—because I am, even if you can’t see me.
· And most importantly…keep living. Keep laughing. Keep loving.
Side Effects of Recovery:
· Random moments of happiness sneaking up on you when you least expect it
· Feeling me in the warmth of the sun, in the wind on your skin, in the quiet of the night
· Realizing that a love like ours never really leaves—it just changes form.
Final Prescription:
· Time and knowing that I’m still with you, always.
8. No being sad alone.
(If you’re feeling miserable, you have to tell the other person so they can be miserable with you. It’s the law.)
I’m passing the torch to Kinsley and Wes now. You’re not alone, Gab.
9. If one of us gets out of here first, they are required to do something ridiculously cool in honor of the other.
(Like skydiving. Or stealing a hospital wheelchair and riding it into the sunset.)
I’m sorry I didn’t make it out this time, baby, but you did. So please do all the crazy things you want in life. You only get one chance.
10. This club lasts forever. No matter what.
(Even if we get old. Even if we live in different places. Even if one of us becomes a boring adult. Secret Sick Kid Club is for life.)
For life, Gabs…for this life and the one after.
I clutch it to my chest, unable to breathe, unable to believe he kept it all these years, unable to process the happiness he’s still bringing me, even as I’m drowning in the pain of it all.
Beneath it lies two packets of hot chocolate at the bottom of the box, and a sticky note attached.
**Good days call for hot chocolate, bad days require it.
I hope you have more good hot chocolate days than bad, my love.
Drink one for me.
P.S. If you don’t add extra marshmallows, I’ll come back to haunt you.**
A broken laugh slips from my lips, mixing with my tears.
But then, I see something else at the bottom of the box.
A small collar.
And in the middle—a key.
I blink, confused, then look up at Wes.
He just smiles and stands. “You’ll have to see this part for yourself.”
* * *
The car ride is quiet, and the streets are dark as Wes drives us outside of the city. When we pull up, I see it—a house glowing in the night, soft light spilling from inside, string lights woven through the backyard you can see from the side. It’s small and so cute, so me.
Wes hands me another note.
Gabrielle, my love, my favorite girl.
I know you’re probably confused right now. And before you start yelling at me in your head about how unfair this seems, just hear me out.
This was supposed to be our home…
And now it’s your home.
I started looking for houses like the ones you talked about wanting when we first found our way back to each other, back when I knew—without a doubt—that forever with you was the only option.
I pictured us here, filling these rooms with laughter, with late-night conversations, with so many lazy mornings and way too many takeout nights because neither of us wanted to cook.
When I got sick, I knew I would never get to move in with you like I planned. But that didn’t change the fact that you deserved a home (our home) even if I wasn’t here to carry the boxes inside with you. Even if I wasn’t here to make it ours. It still is. I want you to build a life here.
After buying the house, I started to hate thinking about you being alone in it, coming home to silence when it should have been filled with stupid inside jokes, my terrible dancing in the kitchen, and me stealing all the blankets at night.
So, I wanted to leave you with a friend—someone to make sure you always have company, someone to cuddle with when you’re thinking about me.
Wes has been hiding her away for me for a while now.
You always did love the therapy dogs at the hospital. The way they made everything feel lighter, even on the hardest days. I hope she can be that for you.
Go on—open the door.
She’s waiting for you.
Her name is Cocoa. And I think she’s gonna love you almost as much as I do.
Kinsley jumps in place, barely containing herself. “Go! Open it!”
With tears in my eyes, I unlock the door.
The second it opens, a small chocolate lab puppy barrels toward me, tail wagging as she jumps into my lap, and licks my face.
I’m both laughing and sobbing while I hold her close to me. “What did your daddy do, little girl?”
Wes hands me the pink collar, and I clip it around her neck, running my fingers over the heart-shaped tag.
Cocoa Hayes
“Cam’s love, in the form of four paws.”
Turning it around, I see the initials C + G on the back.
I hold the puppy against my chest, hugging her.
She feels like a piece of him.
Like I get a piece back.