THE LAST PROMISE
PART 3
.Six months had passed since Kelvin left, but for Mary, it felt like yesterday.
She still woke up reaching for him in the middle of the night. She still set two plates on the table out of habit before remembering. The house was too quiet, too empty, too full of memories that haunted her like ghosts.
Friends and family had stopped checking in as often. "Time will heal," they said. But time didn’t heal. It just made the pain duller, heavier—like a stone settled deep in her chest.
And then came the memorial service.
The church was filled with people dressed in white—Kelvin’s favorite color. His photo stood at the front, smiling that warm, familiar smile that made Mary’s throat tighten. She sat in the front row, clutching a folded handkerchief, her eyes dry only because she had no tears left.
People spoke about him—his kindness, his laughter, his courage during his illness. Mary listened, but their words felt distant, like they were talking about a man she used to know, not the one who had held her every night.
Then, a man she had never seen before stood up to speak.
Tall, well-dressed, with a quiet confidence that made people turn their heads. His voice was deep, steady.
"Kelvin was my closest friend," he said.
Mary stiffened.
Closest friend? She had known Kelvin since they were teenagers. She knew every friend, every story, every secret. But she had never—never—heard of this man.
After the service, people gathered outside, sharing stories and condolences. Mary watched as the stranger—Andre—moved through the crowd with ease, shaking hands, smiling softly at memories she wasn’t part of.
Her heart pounded. Who was he?
She waited until most people had left before approaching him.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "I don’t think we’ve met."
He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers. For a second, something flickered in his gaze—something like guilt? Sadness?
"Mary," he said, as if he already knew her. "I’m Andre. Kelvin… he spoke about you all the time."
A cold knot formed in her stomach. "I’ve never heard of you."
Andre hesitated, then sighed. "We weren’t… public friends. But we were close. Very close."
Mary’s hands clenched. "How close?"
He looked away, then back at her, his expression unreadable. "Close enough that he asked me to check on you after…" He trailed off.
Mary’s breath caught.
Kelvin had sent him?
Andre reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. "He asked me to give you this. Six months after."
Mary took it, her fingers trembling. Her name was written in Kelvin’s handwriting.
She looked up at Andre, her voice barely a whisper. "Who are you really?"
He held her gaze, his own filled with something she couldn’t name. "Someone who made a promise to a dying man."
And before she could ask anything else, he walked away, leaving her standing there with a letter that suddenly felt too heavy to open.
TO BE CONTINUED...
PART 3
.Six months had passed since Kelvin left, but for Mary, it felt like yesterday.
She still woke up reaching for him in the middle of the night. She still set two plates on the table out of habit before remembering. The house was too quiet, too empty, too full of memories that haunted her like ghosts.
Friends and family had stopped checking in as often. "Time will heal," they said. But time didn’t heal. It just made the pain duller, heavier—like a stone settled deep in her chest.
And then came the memorial service.
The church was filled with people dressed in white—Kelvin’s favorite color. His photo stood at the front, smiling that warm, familiar smile that made Mary’s throat tighten. She sat in the front row, clutching a folded handkerchief, her eyes dry only because she had no tears left.
People spoke about him—his kindness, his laughter, his courage during his illness. Mary listened, but their words felt distant, like they were talking about a man she used to know, not the one who had held her every night.
Then, a man she had never seen before stood up to speak.
Tall, well-dressed, with a quiet confidence that made people turn their heads. His voice was deep, steady.
"Kelvin was my closest friend," he said.
Mary stiffened.
Closest friend? She had known Kelvin since they were teenagers. She knew every friend, every story, every secret. But she had never—never—heard of this man.
After the service, people gathered outside, sharing stories and condolences. Mary watched as the stranger—Andre—moved through the crowd with ease, shaking hands, smiling softly at memories she wasn’t part of.
Her heart pounded. Who was he?
She waited until most people had left before approaching him.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "I don’t think we’ve met."
He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers. For a second, something flickered in his gaze—something like guilt? Sadness?
"Mary," he said, as if he already knew her. "I’m Andre. Kelvin… he spoke about you all the time."
A cold knot formed in her stomach. "I’ve never heard of you."
Andre hesitated, then sighed. "We weren’t… public friends. But we were close. Very close."
Mary’s hands clenched. "How close?"
He looked away, then back at her, his expression unreadable. "Close enough that he asked me to check on you after…" He trailed off.
Mary’s breath caught.
Kelvin had sent him?
Andre reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. "He asked me to give you this. Six months after."
Mary took it, her fingers trembling. Her name was written in Kelvin’s handwriting.
She looked up at Andre, her voice barely a whisper. "Who are you really?"
He held her gaze, his own filled with something she couldn’t name. "Someone who made a promise to a dying man."
And before she could ask anything else, he walked away, leaving her standing there with a letter that suddenly felt too heavy to open.
TO BE CONTINUED...
THE LAST PROMISE
PART 3
.Six months had passed since Kelvin left, but for Mary, it felt like yesterday.
She still woke up reaching for him in the middle of the night. She still set two plates on the table out of habit before remembering. The house was too quiet, too empty, too full of memories that haunted her like ghosts.
Friends and family had stopped checking in as often. "Time will heal," they said. But time didn’t heal. It just made the pain duller, heavier—like a stone settled deep in her chest.
And then came the memorial service.
The church was filled with people dressed in white—Kelvin’s favorite color. His photo stood at the front, smiling that warm, familiar smile that made Mary’s throat tighten. She sat in the front row, clutching a folded handkerchief, her eyes dry only because she had no tears left.
People spoke about him—his kindness, his laughter, his courage during his illness. Mary listened, but their words felt distant, like they were talking about a man she used to know, not the one who had held her every night.
Then, a man she had never seen before stood up to speak.
Tall, well-dressed, with a quiet confidence that made people turn their heads. His voice was deep, steady.
"Kelvin was my closest friend," he said.
Mary stiffened.
Closest friend? She had known Kelvin since they were teenagers. She knew every friend, every story, every secret. But she had never—never—heard of this man.
After the service, people gathered outside, sharing stories and condolences. Mary watched as the stranger—Andre—moved through the crowd with ease, shaking hands, smiling softly at memories she wasn’t part of.
Her heart pounded. Who was he?
She waited until most people had left before approaching him.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "I don’t think we’ve met."
He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers. For a second, something flickered in his gaze—something like guilt? Sadness?
"Mary," he said, as if he already knew her. "I’m Andre. Kelvin… he spoke about you all the time."
A cold knot formed in her stomach. "I’ve never heard of you."
Andre hesitated, then sighed. "We weren’t… public friends. But we were close. Very close."
Mary’s hands clenched. "How close?"
He looked away, then back at her, his expression unreadable. "Close enough that he asked me to check on you after…" He trailed off.
Mary’s breath caught.
Kelvin had sent him?
Andre reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. "He asked me to give you this. Six months after."
Mary took it, her fingers trembling. Her name was written in Kelvin’s handwriting.
She looked up at Andre, her voice barely a whisper. "Who are you really?"
He held her gaze, his own filled with something she couldn’t name. "Someone who made a promise to a dying man."
And before she could ask anything else, he walked away, leaving her standing there with a letter that suddenly felt too heavy to open.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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