Christian,
We haven’t officially met, but I feel like I already know you from what Paige has told me. She’s a very special lady, isn’t she? She won my heart the moment I saw her. I’ve spent the last four years trying to show her just how much I love her, and I hope I’ve succeeded.
I wanted to write you this letter to let you know I love Paige so much, and I want her to be happy. As happy as she has made me. I’m not sure if you know, but I’m dying, and if I’ve sent this, I may already be gone. I saw you and Paige on our wedding day. The way you argued so passionately for her heart, and the look in her eyes.
Perhaps it was selfish of me to marry her after seeing that look, after knowing she felt the same way about you. I didn’t want to die alone, and I didn’t want to give up the one person who made me happier than I had ever been.
But now that I’m gone, I want that for my Paige. I want to know that she is going to spend the rest of her life loving and being loved, not mourning me. She deserves that. Help her live her dreams, hold her hand when you’re walking next to her, she loves that, and hold her when she cries. She won’t make it easy on you; we both know that’s not her.
Fight for her, she’s worth it. She’s yours now, so please be there for her, and help her find that joy again. That joy that she gave me every day until my last.
-Henry
My arms drop down to my side, as I clench the letter tightly in my fist. I can feel my chest tightening, my breaths growing shallow. My brain’s not sure what part of the letter to process first. He saw Christian and I on our wedding day? My heart aches to the point where I wonder if it might physically crack. I push that thought aside, and question what Henry could have possibly been thinking. I’m not something he could just give away.
“He must have sent it just before the end,” Christian says.
“I miss him.” I don’t know why those words leave my lips, but it’s all I have in me.
“I know.” I hear Christian’s voice shake, heavy with the emotion of the moment. “He must have loved you very much.”
“I can’t do this, Christian,” I quickly add as he takes a step closer to me.
“You can’t do what?”
“I can’t flip a switch and just be happy with you. Everything without Henry feels wrong.” My chest heaves as I fight back the rage of tears behind my eyes.
Christian laughs softly.
“That’s funny?” I snap.
Christian shakes his head, closing the gap between us. “I don’t expect things to feel normal anytime soon. And I don’t think Henry expected you to flip a switch either. Whatever will or won’t happen between us, I’m not worried about right now. All I want right now is to hold and comfort the girl I’ve known and loved since I was a kid.”
He stares at me—waiting for any sign his embrace might be welcome. I bow my head, which he quickly takes as an invitation. He wraps his strong arms around me. The zipper of his sweatshirt presses into my cheek uncomfortably, but the massive warmth and strength of his embrace is so intense I don’t dare push him away. I almost welcome pain inflicted from something other than my cracked-in-two heart.
Gripping the sleeve of his sweatshirt, I crumple into him, the wall coming down and the raw pain enveloping me. “It hurts so bad.” I cough and heave, my words barely audible.
He pets my head, he doesn’t let go, and I cry as he speaks, “Please let me be here for you, Paige. Will you let me do that?”
I nod, unable to speak, the pain in my chest more than I can bear. I have never felt so utterly broken. I can’t process Henry’s letter, I can’t process anything except that I hurt. I hurt, and I don’t want to. The loss is so great my body actually aches. I fall to my knees, curling into a ball, and try to shut it all out.
Christian is there, he moves with me, holding me, rocking me through my sobs. My eyes are burning, and I wonder if breathing will always be this painful. I struggle to breathe, Christian’s broad hand rubbing circles across my back, trying to calm me.
I close my eyes; the warmth of his body and his steady breathing lulls me into the sleep that has escaped me for days.
One Month Later ...
SOME DAYS I feel strong—almost like I might be able to get out of bed and walk down to the table for breakfast. But just before I slip my robe on each time, the sadness creeps in, and I settle for pulling the blankets back over my head.
Then there are the days that I feel like I am a frail and broken leaf, laying on the ground, waiting for the massive storm that is just over the horizon to come and blow me away. Since I spend most of my time here, in this bed, staring up at the ceiling, I also have taken up a new hobby. At least that’s what I like to call it. I worry. That is my hobby.