So that was it.
She was supposed to just live out the rest of her life on her own accord, the same way she would have if it hadn't happened. Yet, it did. She fell down the stairs on her way to the kitchen, was apparently blacked out before she had even hit the steps. I remember so clearly the sound of her helpless form thudding down the steps. I remember the urgency at which the paramedic team rushed in. Ever since then - 3 years ago - nothing similar has happened. That's just because of the treatment, though. It's not supposed to happen.
On the day after, we had learned that she was suffering through terminal cancer. There was no cure. There was no way out. She had a couple of years left, which, they admitted, was fair, and especially generous. And there I sat, 3 years later, holding her hand, carefully, so as to not crush her now fragile bones, as she looked into my eyes and smiled.
"Aaron," she whispered. "Tell me again. Tell me again about when you fell in love."
She loved the story, I knew that. And I would have told it a thousand times more had I had the time. We both knew I didn't, though. So I figured that if this would be the last time, then it would be the best. Tears welled up in my eyes; I had one more chance to make her smile, one more chance to make her laugh, to make her cry. We only had a few more breaths together, so I had to make it count. So, I did.
YOU ARE READING
Tell Me Again About How You Fell In Love
RomanceA middle-aged man sits by his terminally ill wife's side as he tells her the story of when he fell in love. He visits their first encounter, and brings himself and his wife to an emotional place deep within their hearts, overcome by the strength of...
