“You’ll never win an argument standing in a doorway, James,” she used to say, raising one brow over the rim of her book. “Come sit and face the music with me.”
I could still hear her voice, teasing, knowing… and for a moment, it stopped me cold.
And we weren’t.
Not then. Not ever.
She was my partner in everything — messy, maddening, and magic. And now she was gone.
The silence she left behind had weight.
It pressed on the walls and settled into my skin. And it didn’t plan on leaving.
We had raised two children together, argued over nursery themes and parenting books, made up over tea in bed and quiet, late-night apologies. We had whispered beneath the covers about nonsense and poetry.
One week she was planning a weekend away at a quiet inn near the coast.
“I want a room in a balcony,” she said, folding her favorite cardigan with practiced ease.
“You’re dreaming,” I teased. “You haven’t switched off your phone since 2008.”
She smirked, tucking a paperback into her tote bag.
“Then it’s about time, isn’t it?”
Claire’s body failed her faster than anyone expected. Her voice grew thinner with each passing day.
And on the last night, she reached for my hand and held it gently.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over mine. “I already know.”
I nodded, afraid my voice would crack if I tried to speak.
Her glasses were folded neatly beside the last book she’d been reading. It was as if she had just stepped out of the room for a moment and would return any second.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
