Tracy....
The sunlight came in soft that morning.
Golden.
Warm against the sheets.
I stretched my arm out before opening my eyes —
reaching for her.
> "Laila," I murmured, smiling. "Let's make pancakes."
But her side was cold.
And still.
---
The tray was already out.
I had cracked two eggs.
Poured flour into a chipped blue bowl.
I was humming something — I don't even remember what —
just happy.
That stupid, full kind of happy you get
when you think nothing can go wrong anymore.
---
Then the silence broke through.
That kind that feels off.
Too still.
Too final.
I called her name again,
a little louder.
Nothing.
I walked back toward the bedroom.
---
She looked like she was sleeping.
Peaceful.
Beautiful.
Like she had slipped out of her body quietly,
without asking permission.
A note was folded beneath her hand.
---
To The Love If My Life
> You gave me more days than I was promised.
You gave me the kind I would live all over again — even with the ending.
If you're reading this, I'm sorry.
I wanted more time, too.
> But I know you'll carry me.
In your breath.
In your words.
In the way you hold joy even when it trembles.
> Keep writing. Even if I'm not there to answer.
Especially then.
> And one day — if there's something after this —
I'll be waiting.
As I always have.
> Yours, always,
Laila
---
I buried her in the place where the lake kisses the trees.
She once told me she wanted to be surrounded by something that moved.
So the wind could carry her stories somewhere I couldn't.
---
Years later- Letters That Never stopped
On Your 30th Birthday...
Dear Laila,
You would've made fun of the way I cried baking your cake today.
It was too sweet — I used too much sugar.
I did it on purpose.
I wanted it to taste like you.
I wore your favorite sweater.
Still smells like lavender.
I miss you in ways language will never catch up to.
Love,
Tracy
---
On Your 40th Birthday..
Dear Laila,
I visited the lake again today.
Brought that camera you used to love.
I saw two girls dancing barefoot in the grass,
just like we did.
I took a picture and told them to never waste time pretending not to be in love.
You'd have smiled.
You always did believe love deserved to be loud.
Still yours,
T.
---
On Your 60th Birthday..
Dear Laila,
I think I'm forgetting the sound of your laugh.
But not the feeling.
You're still the pause between my thoughts.
The echo in every "almost."
I hope you've been watching.
I hope it hasn't been too quiet without me.
I'm coming soon.
Wait for me, love. Just a little longer.
Always,
Tracy
--
Third Person...
They say she passed in her sleep,
pen in hand,
paper against her chest.
One last letter unfinished.
But the part that mattered was still there.
Just four words.
> "I'm coming, my love."
---
𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔼ℕ𝔻