2. The Final Goodbye

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The rain had chilled Sam to the bone when he'd first stepped out, but he could no longer feel it.

It was done. Skye was put to rest under the mound of fresh earth, and now all that was left was her headstone and mud.

Skye Amelia Grant.
Loving wife and mother. Talented psychiatrist. Amazing person. Savior.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off the headstone. So little words to express so much. An entire life, so many hopes and dreams.

Everyone had gone home by then, left him there at his own request. And finally, once alone, the tears came. They rushed down his cheeks like a raging river, blurring his vision, his mind, every feeling except the one of despair.

She was gone. What was he to do without her? His hand tightened around the single red rose he held. He was supposed to throw it over her casket, but he couldn't. Instead, he'd held on to it, the thorns digging into his skin, making blood trickle down his wrist.

It was time.

He knelt next to the grave and placed the blood splattered rose next to her headstone, his eyes glued to her name. Now that he was so close, he couldn't pull away. His hands found the mud and he let himself lay there, on top of her, his fingers digging into the dirt in a last desperate hug.

"I miss you so much," he said, between sobs. "And I always will."

It felt relieful to say it, to admit it, to be in the place he would join her when the time came. Because he'd promised her that much.

Sam opened his eyes, his entire body aching from his precarious sleeping position. Next to him, Skye sat with her back propped against the pillows, a small frown on her face as she counted envelopes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice weak and hoarse.

"Hey, Snowflake," she said, gathering the impressive stack of envelopes. "Just working."

"Working? You should be resting."

Her lips lifted in a bitter smile. "I'll have enough of that soon enough. I need to say some things to some people."

Sam watched as she flipped through the letters, taking in the names on them. Her parents, her best friend Lucy, Kay, Kyle, Jessie, Jimmy, Jerry, Sarah, Tom, Angie. Christine.

The last name trumped the shock of Skye writing to Angie who was gone and Jimmy who was out of it. "You wrote a letter to Christine?"

"Maybe the most important one," she mumbled. "But it's only in case she shows up again."

The thought was so strange and foreign. They hadn't heard anything from Christine for almost a year, ever since their wedding. She'd made good on her promise and vanished from their lives.

"I want you to give them out. Don't read them. Except the one for Christine. You can read that one." She bit her lip, looking exhausted. "Sam, I have a favor to ask."

"Of course, anything." He sat up and wrapped her in his arms.

"I'm not insane. I know you're young and you'll move on."

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