The sky had darkened slightly, hints of orange smearing across the clouds as Dr. Kennedy, Misa, and John walked in silence. Their steps echoed lightly against the pavement, the tension still clinging to them like a second skin.
Misa was the first to speak, frustration crackling in her voice as she crossed her arms tightly.
Misa: I can't believe her. She didn't even look sorry. Not even a little. Just making excuses.
John said nothing, hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw clenched.
Dr. Kennedy glanced at her.
Dr Kennedy: Some people bury their guilt so deep, they forget it's even there. But it's not gone. What we said… it'll reach her. Maybe not today, maybe not fully. But it will.
Misa scoffed but didn't argue.
John finally muttered.
John: She doesn't deserve to cry for Kana.
Dr. Kennedy nodded.
Dr Kennedy: Maybe not. But grief doesn't always come to the deserving. Sometimes it just shows up anyway.
John quickly thought back to what had just happened and then spoke again.
John: I saw my mom in her. The way she twisted it. 'I had to do it for the family. I made the best choice I could.' That kind of talk. Like they're trying to sell you poison wrapped in sympathy.
He kicked at a pebble on the road, the motion sharp and sudden.
John: There's no 'logic' in giving up on your kid.
Dr. Kennedy: No. There isn't. But people like that convince themselves there is, because it's easier than facing what they've done. Easier than carrying the truth.
Misa: Then she should carry it now. She should feel it. All of it.
Dr. Kennedy: She will. Even if she tries to run again, guilt finds its way back. And after today, it'll be louder than it's ever been. That was why I said we should see her today.
Misa smirked.
Misa: That's smart.
The three of them walked past a row of darkened houses, their reflections gliding faintly in the windows like shadows that didn't quite belong.
Misa: Kana deserved more. So much more.
John: Yeah... I don't think her mom even knew who she became.
He looked up at the sky, at the bruised orange fading into purple.
John: But... that's her loss. And it's gonna haunt her.
No one said anything more after that. The sun dipped lower behind the trees, and the world slowly turned toward night.
*****
Meanwhile...
The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made every tick of the clock feel like a scream.
Kana's mother stood alone in her bedroom, the door closed behind her. Her face was blank, almost eerily calm as she walked towards the closet.
She knelt and reached to the back of a box tucked beneath a pile of old winter coats.
From it, she pulled out a photo.
It was a picture of her holding a much younger Kana, maybe four or five, both smiling, both glowing with warmth. Kana's small arms were wrapped tightly around her mother's neck.
The woman stared at it for a long time.
Dr. Kennedy's voice from earlier echoed in her mind:
"She died... On her birthday... If you ever cared to remember that."
The words struck her chest all over again, and the dam she had tried so hard to keep together finally broke.
Her lips trembled.
Her shoulders quivered.
And then, silently at first, she began to cry.
She sank slowly to the floor, clutching the photo to her chest, her sobs growing louder with each passing second.
Not just tears of grief, but of guilt.
Deep, wrenching guilt.
For the years lost.
For the daughter abandoned.
For the smile in that photo she would never see again.
The photo shook in her trembling hands as she wept, alone.
*****
John returned to Dr. Kennedy's house afterward. The night air felt heavier now. Dr. Kennedy had to rush back to work, and Misa had headed home still visibly shaken, frustration lingering in her expression after their encounter with Kana's mother.
Alone, that feeling crept in again; the same hollow weight that told him nothing really mattered anymore. The house felt too quiet, the silence like pressure on his chest. He dragged himself to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, trying to wash off the exhaustion clinging to his bones.
Afterward, he collapsed onto the couch and tried to watch TV, but the colors on the screen just blurred together, meaningless. He muted the sound and sat there, eyes blank, heart numb. It didn't feel like the same world anymore.
Eventually, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his photos. His thumb paused over one picture—a selfie they had taken at the amusement park. Kana had that crooked little smile, the one she tried to hide but never could. He smiled faintly, but the smile didn't last. The sadness bloomed all over again, stronger than before, wrapping tightly around his chest.
Then something caught the corner of his eye.
Kana's phone.
It sat quietly on the glass table in front of him, just where it had been left.
Almost without thinking, his hand moved toward it. He picked it up and held it for a long time, his fingers trembling slightly. Part of him didn't want to open it. It felt invasive. Final. But curiosity or maybe longing, overcame him, and he unlocked the screen.
Twibbler notifications immediately popped up, dozens of them flooding in.
Her followers were still wondering what had happened.
"Where's Lonelygirl4556?"
"It's been a week. Is she okay?"
"She promised she'd post after the surgery…"
John's throat tightened. He had tried to say it, tried to find the words to tell them she was gone. But every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat. So once again, he exited the app.
He was about to put the phone down when his finger accidentally swiped, opening her photo gallery. Her face greeted him instantly.
Hundreds of photos filled the screen. Silly faces, hospital selfies, blurry shots from outings, and snapshots of poems, screenshots she must've saved because they spoke to her somehow. He went through them slowly, as if flipping through pages of a diary written in light.
Then he noticed a folder tucked away in the corner of the gallery.
"For everyone."
It only had one file.
A video. Dated June 4th.
His thumb hovered over it for a second, then he tapped it.
Kana's face appeared on the screen, framed by her soft hospital blanket. Her voice came through clearly, gentle but slightly nervous.
Kana (on video):
If you're seeing this… it probably means the surgery didn't work. I'm sorry. I really, really hoped I'd never have to say this. Everyone was so hopeful. Everyone kept saying I'd be okay. But part of me was still scared. So I made this, just in case....
She gave a small smile, eyes shimmering slightly.
Kana:
Dr. Kennedy… thank you. For paying for everything, for taking care of me for all these years. You gave me more time than I was supposed to have. You gave me… a life.
She paused, lips trembling slightly before continuing.
Kana:
Jane, thank you for always standing by me. You're like the older sister I never had. I hope you and Dr. Kennedy keep growing closer… I always thought you two would be good for each other.
She gave a small chuckle, then her tone turned softer.
Kana:
Misa… my best friend. You stayed by me even when I was difficult. Even when you found me again, you never let me go. I'm sorry that I might have to leave you again if the surgery isn't successful.
She took a deep breath and relaxed herself before she continued.
Kana:
Rose, you inspired me. You reminded me that we can leave something behind for others to grow from. Keep writing, okay? I hope you become a best-selling author one day. I really do.
Kana:
And Liam… thank you. For showing me that I wasn't alone. That there are people out there who fight quietly every day, just like I did. I hope your friend wakes up soon. And when she does… tell her she's lucky to have someone like you.
Her eyes drifted for a moment before finally settling.
Kana:
And John…
She laughed—soft, warm, teasing.
Kana:
You big dummy. You can be so stupid sometimes.
She sniffled, but kept smiling through her tears.
Kana:
But thank you. For messaging me that day. For standing by me. For being stubborn and annoying and sweet all at once. Thank you for loving me, for giving me my first kiss, for showing me what it means to be loved… and to love back.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she didn't look away.
Kana:
I love you, John. I love all of you. And I hope you never have to watch this video. But if you are… I'm sorry. And thank you for everything.
She smiled one last time, soft and glowing, before the screen went black.
John sat frozen.
The silence after the video ended was deafening.
His hand lowered slowly, eyes fixed on the screen. Then he looked down at his wrist, at the bracelet Kana had given him back in December. His thumb brushed over it like it was the last real thing anchoring him to her.
Without thinking, he forwarded the video to their group chat, then to Dr. Kennedy and Jane.
One by one, they all watched.
And for the first time since Kana died, something shifted in all of them. The tears returned, but they weren't just tears of grief anymore. They were tears of gratitude, of love, of something beginning to heal.
And for the first time since she passed, John finally let himself cry.
Not because she was gone.
But because she had lived, and had loved them all until the very end.
******
The next day, John woke up to Kana's phone vibrating with several new messages. Their group chat was filled with kind words, thanking him for sharing the video. He also received voice messages from Dr. Kennedy and Jane, both expressing their gratitude for passing along Kana's final message.
He smiled softly, feeling a strange sense of warmth. For the first time in days, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could keep moving forward.
Just then, Kana's phone rang again. An unknown number. John hesitated before answering.
The woman on the other end introduced herself as Mrs. Emerald, one of the judges for the national writing competition Kana had entered at the beginning of the year. She explained that Kana had won the poetry category and asked if she could meet with her in person to deliver the news.
John paused for a moment, then quietly said yes.
Two hours later, they met at a small café near the hospital. Mrs. Emerald was warm and elegant, holding a folder in her hand. She smiled as John approached, though confusion flickered across her face when she saw him alone.
Mrs. Emerald: Hi... I was expecting Kana Young?
John gave her a small nod, then pulled out Kana's phone and placed it gently on the table.
John: I'm John. Kana was my girlfriend.
She blinked, puzzled.
Mrs. Emerald: Oh... I see. Is she not coming?
There was a pause. John's voice was steady but heavy.
John: Kana passed away six days ago.
Mrs. Emerald's expression shifted immediately, her breath caught in her throat, and her hand slowly lowered the folder onto the table.
Mrs. Emerald: Oh my God… I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. Please forgive me.
John: It's okay. You didn't know.
They sat in silence for a few seconds before Mrs. Emerald gently opened the folder.
Mrs. Emerald: Her poem... it was truly breathtaking. It brought several of us on the panel to tears. That's why I wanted to reach out. The prize was more than recognition. Kana was supposed to have her work published in the upcoming prose collection this August... along with a $10,000 cash reward and a scholarship.
She shook her head softly.
Mrs. Emerald: But now… I don't know what will happen next.
John stared down at the folder for a long moment. This was Kana's dream. Her words, her soul, were meant to be read by the world.
After a few seconds of quiet thought, he looked up at Mrs. Emerald.
John: I think I know what to do.