THE LAST PROMISE
PART 5
Mary sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the unopened letter on her nightstand. It had been weeks since Andre gave it to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Every time she reached for it, her chest tightened, and she would pull her hand back as if burned.
But today was different.
Today, she needed to know what Kelvin had written.
With trembling fingers, she picked up the envelope and carefully tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting unmistakably Kelvin’s—neat, deliberate, just like the man himself.
Her vision blurred as she began to read:
"My Dearest Mary,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and you’ve made it this far without me. First, I need you to know how proud I am of you. You were my strength when I had none left, my light in the darkest days. I could never thank you enough for that.
But now, my love, it’s time for you to live again.
I know you. You’ll resist. You’ll say it’s too soon, that it’s wrong. But Mary, life is too short to spend it drowning in grief. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to laugh again, to love again, to let someone else see the incredible woman I fell in love with.
That’s why I asked Andre to find you.
He’s a good man, Mary. One of the best I’ve ever known. I trust him with my life—and now, I trust him with yours. Give him a chance. Let him show you that happiness isn’t a betrayal of my memory.
Please, my love. For me.
Yours, even in death,
Kelvin."
A sob tore from Mary’s throat.
She clutched the letter to her chest, her entire body shaking. Kelvin had *planned* this? He had sent Andre to her?
The weight of it crashed over her like a wave.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Andre:
"Lunch today? Just as friends. No pressure."
Mary stared at the words, then back at the letter.
Kelvin’s voice echoed in her mind.
"Give him a chance."
She took a deep breath.
And typed:
"Okay."
The restaurant was beautiful—one of those five-star places with soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and the gentle hum of live piano music in the background. Mary felt out of place in her simple dress, but Andre didn’t seem to notice. He stood as she approached, pulling out her chair with a smile.
"You look beautiful," he said.
Mary stiffened slightly but forced a polite smile. "Thank you."
The waiter brought menus, and Andre insisted she order first. She chose pepper soup—something light, something safe. He ordered jollof rice and grilled fish, then a bottle of wine.
"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.
Mary hesitated, then clinked her glass against his.
"To Kelvin," she corrected softly.
Andre’s smile faltered for just a second before he nodded. "To Kelvin."
The food was delicious, the wine smooth, and despite herself, Mary found the conversation easy. Andre was charming, funny even. He told stories about his travels, his work, and—carefully—his friendship with Kelvin.
"He talked about you all the time," Andre said, swirling his wine. "How brave you were. How kind. How you made him laugh even on his worst days."
Mary’s throat tightened. "He never told me about you."
Andre sighed. "We lost touch for a while. But when he got sick… he reached out. Asked me to promise him something."
Mary’s fingers tightened around her glass. "What promise?"
Andre met her eyes. "To make sure you weren’t alone."
Silence settled between them. The piano music seemed louder now, the air heavier.
Then, without warning, Andre leaned forward—just slightly, just enough.
"Mary, I—"
She knew what was coming.
And before he could finish, before he could kiss her, she stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor.
"I have to go."
"Mary, wait—"
But she was already walking away, her heart pounding, her face burning with something between anger and shame.
The taxi ride home was a blur.
Mary barely remembered paying the driver or stumbling into her house. All she knew was the crushing weight of *guilt* pressing down on her chest.
She had betrayed Kelvin.
She had let this happen.
Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed onto the bed, clutching Kelvin’s pillow to her chest.
What had she done?
Her phone buzzed—once, twice, then continuously. Andre. Calling. Texting.
"Mary, please talk to me."
"I’m sorry. That was too much."
"Just let me explain."
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
With shaking hands, she turned her phone off and buried her face in the pillow, sobbing until she had no tears left.
TO BE CONTINUED...