Sunday Short: When I'm Gone
When Claire told Daniel she was dying, he didn't say anything at first.
He simply held her hand.
They were sitting in their bedroom, the curtains half-open, late afternoon sunlight spilling across the floor.
“How long?” he finally asked.
Claire swallowed.
“Six months.”
Daniel looked at her.
“No.”
She smiled sadly.
“You can't negotiate with a doctor.”
“I can try.”
“You always think money can fix everything.”
“Usually it can.”
Claire laughed softly.
Daniel didn't.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“I don't want six months.”
“I know.”
“I want sixty years.”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“So do I.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the city carried on as usual.
Cars moved along the street.
People walked home from work.
Someone was laughing in the apartment next door.
The world hadn't changed.
Only theirs had.
Six months.
That night, Daniel didn't let go of Claire's hand while they slept.
The next morning, he made her breakfast.
Two eggs.
Toast.
Coffee exactly the way she liked it.
Claire looked at the plate and smiled.
“You're getting better.”
“At breakfast?”
“At taking care of me.”
Daniel kissed her forehead.
“I've had fifteen years of practice.”
They had been married for fifteen years.
Fifteen years of birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas mornings and Sunday dinners.
They had travelled across Europe.
They had spent summers in France.
They had watched the sunrise in Santorini.
They had bought their beautiful home overlooking the city.
They had built a life most people would envy.
But Claire never cared much about the expensive things.
She remembered the little ones.
Daniel knew she hated raisins.
He knew she liked her coffee slightly sweet.
He knew she couldn't sleep if the bedroom door was completely closed.
Whenever she had a nightmare, he stayed awake beside her until she fell asleep again.
And now that she was dying, Daniel seemed determined to make every remaining day count.
He cancelled business trips.
He came home early.
He stopped attending dinners he didn't need to attend.
He took her to restaurants she loved.
He bought flowers almost every day.
Sometimes Claire would wake up and find a bouquet beside her bed.
“You don't have to keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want to.”
One Saturday morning, Daniel woke her before sunrise.
“Get dressed.”
Claire opened one eye.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
“That's never a reassuring sentence.”
He laughed.
An hour later, they were driving toward the coast.
Claire fell asleep in the passenger seat.
When she woke, the sky was turning orange.
Daniel had parked near the beach.
She looked at him.
“You drove three hours?”
“You said once that you wanted to see the ocean at sunrise.”
“I said that ten years ago.”
“I remembered.”
Claire looked toward the horizon.
The sun slowly appeared above the water.
She began to cry.
Daniel reached for her hand.
“Hey.”
“I'm okay.”
“You're crying.”
“I know.”
“Is it beautiful?”
She nodded.
“Very.”
He kissed her hand.
“I want to give you everything before you go.”
Claire looked at him.
“You already did.”
Daniel smiled.
And for a moment, they simply sat there holding hands.
As the weeks passed, Claire began thinking about what would happen after she was gone.
She worried about Daniel.
Not his money.
Not his career.
Him.
Daniel had built his entire world around her.
He hated sleeping alone.
He rarely cooked.
He had very few friends outside their social circle.
And although everyone saw him as confident and successful, Claire knew how quiet he became when the house was empty.
One night, she asked him,
“What are you going to do when I'm gone?”
Daniel didn't look up from his book.
“I'm not discussing that.”
“You have to.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Claire.”
She smiled.
“You're very stubborn.”
“So are you.”
“I don't want you to be alone.”
He closed the book.
“I'll manage.”
“I know you will.”
“Then stop worrying.”
“I can't.”
He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her.
“You don't have to worry about me.”
Claire rested her head against his chest.
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
Daniel held her tighter.
“I love you too.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Then she said something that made Daniel immediately pull away.
“I want you to meet someone.”
“What?”
“A woman.”
“No.”
“You haven't even heard anything about her.”
“I don't care.”
“She is lovely.”
“Claire.”
“She's intelligent.”
“No.”
“She's funny.”
“Still no.”
“And she makes an excellent lasagna.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You're trying to set me up?”
“Yes.”
“While you're dying?”
“Especially because I'm dying.”
He shook his head.
“I don't want another woman.”
“You don't have to fall in love with her.”
“Good.”
“But I want you to meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because one day, I'll be gone.”
He looked away.
Claire reached for his hand.
“And I need to know someone will be there for you.”
Daniel sighed.
“You're impossible.”
“Please?”
She gave him the smile he could never resist.
Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
“Fine.”
Claire smiled.
“Thank you.”
The woman was named Emily.
She was elegant, warm and surprisingly funny.
Their first dinner was awkward.
Mostly because Daniel kept looking at Claire.
Claire noticed.
“You don't have to keep checking on me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
Daniel smiled.
Emily laughed.
By the end of the evening, they were talking comfortably.
Claire watched them from across the table.
“You two seem to get along.”
Daniel gave her a look.
“Don't start.”
Claire laughed.
Emily smiled.
“I like your wife.”
Daniel reached for Claire's hand.
“So do I.”
Claire squeezed his fingers.
“Good.”
They met again.
Then again.
Claire encouraged it.
She asked Daniel what he thought about Emily.
“She seems nice.”
“Just nice?”
“Very nice.”
“Would you see her again?”
Daniel sighed.
“You're really enjoying this, aren't you?”
“A little.”
He smiled.
“Okay.”
And he saw Emily again.
Something strange happened after that.
Daniel began smiling more.
He talked about their conversations.
He told Claire about the restaurants Emily liked.
He laughed about the movies they disagreed on.
Claire listened.
Sometimes she teased him.
Sometimes she simply smiled.
One evening, Daniel came home and found Claire sitting on the sofa.
“You're happy.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
He sat beside her.
“Emily told me the most ridiculous story today.”
Claire smiled.
“Tell me.”
He did.
Claire laughed.
Then she looked at him.
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“If you ever fall in love again, don't feel guilty.”
Daniel's smile disappeared.
“I don't think I could.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“You can.”
He looked at her.
“I married you.”
“And you loved me.”
“I still do.”
Claire swallowed.
“I know.”
He took her hand.
“I don't want anyone else.”
Claire smiled.
“Then at least promise me you'll try.”
Daniel kissed her forehead.
“For you.”
“For me.”
The months passed.
Claire became weaker.
Daniel became even more devoted.
He slept beside her.
He cooked for her.
He read to her when she couldn't sleep.
Sometimes he simply sat beside her and held her hand.
One night, Claire woke up and found him asleep beside her.
She watched him for a long time.
Then she whispered,
“I'm sorry.”
Daniel stirred.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He reached for her hand without opening his eyes.
“I love you.”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“I love you too.”
She held his hand until morning.
Three days before the doctors said she had very little time left, Daniel took her to their favorite restaurant.
Claire barely ate.
“You should rest,” he said.
“I want one last dinner with my husband.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Don't say one last.”
“Okay.”
“One of many.”
Claire smiled.
“One of many.”
After dinner, they went home.
Daniel helped her upstairs.
He tucked her into bed.
Then he sat beside her.
“Are you scared?”
Claire nodded.
“A little.”
He held her hand.
“I'm here.”
“I know.”
“I'll be here.”
Claire looked at him.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She smiled.
“Then I'm not scared anymore.”
That night, they talked until almost dawn.
About their first date.
Their wedding.
Their first home.
The ridiculous holiday where Daniel lost their passports.
The time Claire accidentally dyed his white shirt pink.
The first Christmas they spent together.
Every memory felt like another piece of their life being placed carefully between them.
Eventually, Claire became quiet.
Daniel noticed.
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“Sleep.”
She looked at him.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving me.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I'll always love you.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Daniel stayed beside her.
Holding her hand.
Waiting.
A few hours later, Claire's breathing became quieter.
Daniel called the doctor.
He held her hand the entire time.
“I'm here,” he whispered.
Claire opened her eyes one final time.
She looked at him.
And smiled.
“I know.”
Then she closed her eyes.
And never opened them again.
Daniel broke down.
The doctor came.
The room filled with quiet voices.
The curtains were drawn.
The flowers beside the bed remained untouched.
And Daniel stayed there long after everyone else had left.
Holding the hand of the woman he had loved for fifteen years.
The woman who had spent her final months worrying about his future.
The woman who had tried to find someone to love him after she was gone.
And the woman who had died believing that, eventually, he would be okay.
At least, that was the story everyone believed.
Especially Daniel.
Until six months later.
Comments