John received a message in the band's group chat from Christine's account. The message read:
"Hey everyone, it's Christine's brother. I wanted to let you know that Christine is very unwell and in the hospital. She wanted me to tell you all that she's going to be okay, but I'll share updates as necessary. If anyone has questions or wants to share anything, you can message Christine's account, and I'll get back to you as quickly as I can."
John's heart sank as he read the message. Christine had always been the strong one, the one who kept everyone together. He felt a pang of guilt for not knowing she was so ill. Days passed, and the silence gnawed at him. He needed to see her. He sent a message to Christine's account:
"Hi, it's John. I'd like to visit Christine. Is that possible?"
The response was quick. "Like I told Stevie, you need to wait. I don't think it's a good idea right now."
John felt a surge of frustration. "Oh bloody hell," he muttered, typing it out.
Christine's brother replied, "I know you and Chris are close, just like she and Stevie are close, but she's not in a shape to be receiving visitors. I don't think she'd want either of you to see her like that."
John's temper flared. "I was married to her, and if I knew she'd been drinking, I made sure I was there for her when she got sick, especially if she'd been drinking too much. I could understand her not wanting Stevie to see her like this, but I don't think she'd give one damn if I saw her like this. Go ahead, ask her. She'll tell you she doesn't care if I see her like this."
"I understand, John. Believe me, I do. But you really don't want to see her in this condition," her brother insisted.
"Fuck you. I'm on my way," John snapped. He packed a small suitcase and headed to the airport, telling his wife that a relative was sick and he needed to visit for a few days. She wished him a safe flight, unaware of the real situation. At the airport, John bought the first ticket to London and, upon arrival, rented a car and checked into a hotel near Christine's hospital. It was late, so he went to bed, planning to visit in the morning.
The next morning, around 11, John walked into the hospital lobby, and there he saw Christine's brother walking out.
"John, what are you doing here?" her brother asked, clearly surprised.
"Didn't you get the message? I clearly said, 'Fuck you, I'm on my way.'"
Her brother sighed. "I got the message, but I didn't think you were serious."
"So can I see her? Or is this going to be a waste of my time?" John asked, his frustration evident.
Her brother looked resigned. "Well, you did come all this way, even though I specifically told you and Stevie to wait. You might as well go up and see her since you're here. She's in room 2312."
"Thank you. Please don't mention this visit to anyone. I don't want Stevie to think I got special privileges because Chris is my ex-wife."
Her brother nodded. "I won't tell anyone."
John got a visitor pass and went up to Christine's room. As he approached, a doctor walked out.
"Are you family?" the doctor asked.
"I'm her ex-husband," John replied.
The doctor hesitated before nodding. "I normally wouldn't do this, but you're technically family enough. You can go in for a visit. I should inform you that Christine has cancer."
John's heart sank. He hadn't heard anything about cancer from Christine's brother. "Cancer? How bad is it?"
The doctor looked somber. "It's quite advanced. We're doing our best to keep her comfortable, but... she's very weak."
John thanked the doctor and walked into the room. Christine lay there, frail and asleep. He pulled a chair next to her bed and took her hand in his.
"Hey, Chris. It's me, John. I'm here," he said softly.
Christine didn't stir. He sat there, holding her hand, and began to speak, hoping she could hear him.
"Chris, I know you're tired. But I'm here now. I couldn't stay away. Remember when we got lost in Paris and ended up at that tiny café? We had the best croissants I've ever tasted, and we played that impromptu gig for the owner. Good times, right?"
Christine remained asleep, her breathing shallow. John continued, his voice trembling.
"You've always been the strongest person I know. Even now, you're amazing. I wish I could take this pain away. I remember that interview you did for Rolling Stone when you said, 'I'm in quite bad health. I've got a chronic back problem which debilitates me.' I can't imagine the pain you've endured. But you will always be loved, and your legacy will live on for generations."
John's eyes filled with tears. "It's okay to go if you want to, Christine. While it will hurt losing you, we'll all be okay. You don't have to keep fighting. You can be free of this pain and suffering."
Just as he finished speaking, the heart monitor flatlined. Nurses and doctors rushed in, sending John out of the room and shutting the door. He realized she was gone. Trembling, he called her brother through Christine's profile on the group messaging app.
Her brother answered, "John, is everything okay?"
John, sobbing, replied, "She's gone."
"What do you mean she's gone? Gone where?" her brother asked, confusion evident in his voice.
John took a deep breath. "When I got to her room, the doctor informed me about her cancer. Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me she had cancer?"
Her brother sighed heavily. "You never asked the specifics, John."
John's anger flared. "The doctor said she was sleeping, but I could go in. I sat in the chair and was talking with Christine. I said goodbye because that's what you do when someone is very sick. Anyway, as soon as I said goodbye, her heart monitor flatlined. Now she's gone."
It took a moment for the reality to sink in. Her brother began crying. "Thank you for telling me, John. And I promise I won't tell anyone in the band you were here."
John thanked him and hung up. A nurse walked over and asked if he was okay.
"My ex-wife just died," he said, his voice cracking.
The nurse pulled him into a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
John thanked her and, after a few moments, headed back to his hotel, feeling the weight of the loss pressing down on him. Back in his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, the silence overwhelming. Memories of Christine flooded his mind—their first gig together, the laughter, the arguments, the love. He thought about calling Stevie, about breaking the news, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. The thought of explaining everything, of reliving those final moments, was too much to bear. Instead, he lay down, staring at the ceiling, letting the memories wash over him.
