Losing You

She knew it was coming. She had seen the signs for months. The coughing, the weight loss, the fatigue. She had tried to ignore them, to hope for the best, but deep down she knew what they meant.

He had lung cancer. Stage four. Inoperable. Terminal.

He had told her the diagnosis a week ago, after he came back from the hospital. He had tried to sound calm, to reassure her that everything would be okay, that he would fight it with all he had. But she could see the fear in his eyes, the pain in his voice, the resignation in his smile.

She had cried. She had hugged him. She had told him that she loved him, that she would always love him, that they would get through this together. But she knew it was a lie. She knew there was no getting through this. There was only waiting for the inevitable.

They had spent the last week trying to make the most of their time together. They had watched their favorite movies, listened to their favorite songs, reminisced about their past, dreamed about their future. They had laughed, they had cried, they had kissed, they had cuddled. They had tried to forget about the disease that was slowly killing him.

But they couldn't forget. They couldn't ignore the fact that every day he was getting weaker, paler, thinner. They couldn't ignore the fact that every night he was coughing up blood, gasping for air, moaning in agony. They couldn't ignore the fact that every morning he was closer to death.

And now, it was here. The final morning. The last goodbye.

She woke up to find him lying next to her, still and cold. His eyes were closed, his lips were blue, his chest was motionless. He was gone.

She felt a surge of grief wash over her, a wave of sorrow that threatened to drown her. She sobbed uncontrollably, clutching his lifeless body to hers, kissing his forehead, whispering his name.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, holding him, crying for him, mourning for him. She didn't know how she found the strength to let him go, to call the ambulance, to inform his family and friends. She didn't know how she survived the funeral, the condolences, the sympathy.

She didn't know how she lived without him.

She missed him every day. She missed his voice, his smile, his touch. She missed his jokes, his stories, his advice. She missed his presence, his warmth, his love.

She felt empty without him. She felt lonely, lost, broken.

She wondered if she would ever be happy again.

She wondered if she would ever see him again.

She hoped he was in a better place.

She hoped he was waiting for her.

She hoped he knew how much she loved him.

The end.
Image credit: Alex Jones

If you enjoyed reading this story, you might want to explore more stories on this website. You can find stories about lovemoralheart touchingfunnyhorror, and more. 

You can also read stories written by different authors, or submit your own story if you have a creative flair. 

Post a Comment