When I woke up, it felt like everything inside me had been emptied out.
I asked again.
“Where is he?”
She turned a page in her magazine and said,
“You need to move forward.”
I asked if there would be a funeral.
“There’s nothing for you to do here,” she replied.
That night, when she stepped out, a nurse came back quietly.
She slipped me a piece of paper and whispered,
“If you want to write something… I’ll try to send it with him.”
I had nothing left.
Except one thing.
I wrote a single sentence:
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