Forever Roses {Harry Styles AU}

Epilogue: Forever Roses

Epilogue: Forever Roses – November 1, 2086

November 1st. The day I killed myself. Not by raising a gun to my head, not by taking too many blades to the wrists, not by jumping off of a cliff. No, definitely not. But with the season, on this day, I died many years ago.

Gemma’s died too, but physically, not emotionally. Today was her funeral.

She died in Cheshire. She’s almost always lived in Cheshire, and after I retired my job in London, I moved back here permanently as well. Also, Gem met her husband, Ray, in Cheshire. Ray died a year ago, and he was an only child, so their two kids and their kids’ families are the only relatives I have left, as far as I know at least. Gemma has been ill for a while; not so much of an actual sickness, but just that she’s old. So am I, at the age of 92.

I feel very alone.

Holmes Chapel of Cheshire isn’t very big. There’s a funeral home just about eight blocks from my home, and I figure I’m never too old to try to keep in shape, so I’m walking home. I used to take walks with my mum when she was old and I had been retiring, and I quite enjoy it. This time I feel like both Gemma and Mum are with me. I left Gemma’s family at the funeral home.

My cane is like my third leg. It really helps out a lot. As I walk, I’m visibly shaking and wobbling. Once or twice some sweet young ladies have come to assist me – that’s one thing I’ve always liked about small towns: a lot of people recognize your face, and if they don’t, they’re friendly anyway.

I’m almost halfway home, I think. I’ve never taken this route before or been on this road because I’ve never had to go to the funeral home, and that’s basically on the edge of town. There’s really nothing much else there.

The loneliness keeps growing and growing as I hobble past cozy-looking homes with an occasional family outside, laughing and talking, all with wide smiles.

Then I pass a cute and dainty home painted a soft yellow. It’s got three kids running around and a couple my age. I guess it’s grandparents and grandkids bonding time. The young children are running around frantically playing what looks like a game of tag while the duo rests beside the front door, leaning on each other. I’ve never had that shared love.

My eyes slide past them and look at the other houses, but then the elderly woman, slowly making her way over to the youngest child, faces me. I peer at her features. They look just like April’s, except older.

I dart my eyes to the mailbox that’s painted happy colors with small handprints covering it. Not only does it spell out the address, but it has names: April & Adrian Thompson.

The lady is April.

My cane is stationary now. My legs aren’t even shaking. My face is pointed directly at hers, watching, shocked.

I didn’t know she moved back here. April and I lost touch in 2027. It was a few years after she and Adrian got married and moved. I wasn’t exactly in the best shape to be calling her, so it was sort of like an unwritten rule that she called first, every other day. Then, although Adrian was extremely good-spirited and never suspected anything between the two of us, I think April was just trying to make him happy. The telephone calls went to once a week. And then they had beautiful kids, and I visited to see them, but April got so busy she called about once a month. Eventually, she didn’t call at all anymore, and neither of us made an effort to do anything about it. Times change, and so do people.

Plus, I think she still had Caitlin, which was slightly less unusual to keep a girl best friend. I also think she’s kept Emma all these years. I haven’t talked to Graham in a long time because he moved to the United States. Caitlin and I stopped talking years ago. I never heard from my college friends again.