THE LAST PROMISE
PART 2
The house had never felt so empty.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the wrinkles on the sheets where Kelvin had lain just hours before. The room still smelled like him—like medicine and the faintest hint of the cologne he used to wear when he was still strong enough to care. Now, the scent was fading, just like he had.
She couldn’t breathe.
The doctor had left. The neighbors had come and gone, whispering words that meant nothing. "I’m so sorry." "He’s in a better place." "Stay strong." As if any of those words could fill the hole in her chest.
But now, she was alone.
Really, truly alone.
Her hands shook as she picked up his pillow, pressing it to her face. She inhaled deeply, desperate to hold onto any piece of him she could. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough again.
A sound escaped her—something between a gasp and a sob—and then the tears came. Not the quiet, gentle tears she had shed while he was still alive, when she tried to be brave for him. No, these were raw, ugly sobs that ripped through her body like a storm. She clutched the pillow tighter, her whole body trembling, as if she could somehow press herself into the past, back to when he was still here.
"Mary," he had whispered that morning, his voice so weak it barely reached her. "Come here."
She had rushed to his side, taking his hand, already knowing.
"Don’t leave me," she had begged, her voice breaking.
He had smiled—just a little—and lifted his shaking hand to her face. "I love you," he said. And then, softer, "Keep your promise."
His fingers had gone slack.
His breath had stilled.
And just like that, the love of her life was gone.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
Mary curled into herself on the bed, her body wracked with sobs. She screamed into the pillow—screamed at God, at the world, at the unfairness of it all. She screamed until her throat burned, until she had no voice left.
Outside, the world kept moving. Birds chirped. The sun shone. People laughed somewhere down the street.
But inside that house, time had stopped.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, drowning in grief. But when she finally lifted her head, the room was dark. The candle had burned out.
Kelvin was still gone.
And she was still here.
Alone.
Her fingers brushed against something on the nightstand—a small, folded piece of paper with her name written in Kelvin’s shaky handwriting.
With trembling hands, she opened it.
And as she read his final words to her, she broke all over again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
PART 2
The house had never felt so empty.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the wrinkles on the sheets where Kelvin had lain just hours before. The room still smelled like him—like medicine and the faintest hint of the cologne he used to wear when he was still strong enough to care. Now, the scent was fading, just like he had.
She couldn’t breathe.
The doctor had left. The neighbors had come and gone, whispering words that meant nothing. "I’m so sorry." "He’s in a better place." "Stay strong." As if any of those words could fill the hole in her chest.
But now, she was alone.
Really, truly alone.
Her hands shook as she picked up his pillow, pressing it to her face. She inhaled deeply, desperate to hold onto any piece of him she could. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough again.
A sound escaped her—something between a gasp and a sob—and then the tears came. Not the quiet, gentle tears she had shed while he was still alive, when she tried to be brave for him. No, these were raw, ugly sobs that ripped through her body like a storm. She clutched the pillow tighter, her whole body trembling, as if she could somehow press herself into the past, back to when he was still here.
"Mary," he had whispered that morning, his voice so weak it barely reached her. "Come here."
She had rushed to his side, taking his hand, already knowing.
"Don’t leave me," she had begged, her voice breaking.
He had smiled—just a little—and lifted his shaking hand to her face. "I love you," he said. And then, softer, "Keep your promise."
His fingers had gone slack.
His breath had stilled.
And just like that, the love of her life was gone.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
Mary curled into herself on the bed, her body wracked with sobs. She screamed into the pillow—screamed at God, at the world, at the unfairness of it all. She screamed until her throat burned, until she had no voice left.
Outside, the world kept moving. Birds chirped. The sun shone. People laughed somewhere down the street.
But inside that house, time had stopped.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, drowning in grief. But when she finally lifted her head, the room was dark. The candle had burned out.
Kelvin was still gone.
And she was still here.
Alone.
Her fingers brushed against something on the nightstand—a small, folded piece of paper with her name written in Kelvin’s shaky handwriting.
With trembling hands, she opened it.
And as she read his final words to her, she broke all over again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
THE LAST PROMISE
PART 2
The house had never felt so empty.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the wrinkles on the sheets where Kelvin had lain just hours before. The room still smelled like him—like medicine and the faintest hint of the cologne he used to wear when he was still strong enough to care. Now, the scent was fading, just like he had.
She couldn’t breathe.
The doctor had left. The neighbors had come and gone, whispering words that meant nothing. "I’m so sorry." "He’s in a better place." "Stay strong." As if any of those words could fill the hole in her chest.
But now, she was alone.
Really, truly alone.
Her hands shook as she picked up his pillow, pressing it to her face. She inhaled deeply, desperate to hold onto any piece of him she could. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough again.
A sound escaped her—something between a gasp and a sob—and then the tears came. Not the quiet, gentle tears she had shed while he was still alive, when she tried to be brave for him. No, these were raw, ugly sobs that ripped through her body like a storm. She clutched the pillow tighter, her whole body trembling, as if she could somehow press herself into the past, back to when he was still here.
"Mary," he had whispered that morning, his voice so weak it barely reached her. "Come here."
She had rushed to his side, taking his hand, already knowing.
"Don’t leave me," she had begged, her voice breaking.
He had smiled—just a little—and lifted his shaking hand to her face. "I love you," he said. And then, softer, "Keep your promise."
His fingers had gone slack.
His breath had stilled.
And just like that, the love of her life was gone.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
Mary curled into herself on the bed, her body wracked with sobs. She screamed into the pillow—screamed at God, at the world, at the unfairness of it all. She screamed until her throat burned, until she had no voice left.
Outside, the world kept moving. Birds chirped. The sun shone. People laughed somewhere down the street.
But inside that house, time had stopped.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, drowning in grief. But when she finally lifted her head, the room was dark. The candle had burned out.
Kelvin was still gone.
And she was still here.
Alone.
Her fingers brushed against something on the nightstand—a small, folded piece of paper with her name written in Kelvin’s shaky handwriting.
With trembling hands, she opened it.
And as she read his final words to her, she broke all over again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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