The room was dark now.
Only the faint hum of machines and the distant footsteps of nurses echoed across sterile halls.
My chest rose and fell, shallow and irregular. Each breath felt strange, never certain if it would return.
And yet, I was calm. For so long, I had feared this moment. I imagined it as a shadow waiting at the end of the road.
But the truth was, it was not a shadow at all. It was just a quiet ending, like the dimming of a lamp when evening is over.
With my eyes half-closed, I let memory wash over me one last time. The house on the hill..
The laughter of friends running across summer fields.
The soft eyes of a girl by the river who had once smiled at me beneath the lanterns.
The warmth of the woman who became my wife, her hand resting on mine even in her final breath.
The countless years of silence, of wood carving, of enduring.
Yes, that was my life. It was flawed, unfinished, ordinary—but it was mine.
The lilies on the nightstand whispered their faint fragrance. I wondered if anyone would remember who left them there. In truth, it didn't matter.
I had hated my regrets. I carried them like stones all my life. But here, at the end, the stones had grown light.
They no longer dragged me down. They felt like pebbles, scattered across a riverbed, beneath the water of memory.
My life was what it was. For the first time, that was enough.
The air grew thinner. The ceiling blurred.
My body loosened, each muscle surrendering.
In that stillness, I saw the shape of her smile—my wife's—clearer than it had been in decades. Not a dream, not a ghost, but a memory, pure and whole.
And I felt nothing but gratitude.
Slowly, I released a final breath. It trembled, then faded.
The sound of the world dissolved into silence.
And with that silence, I closed my eyes.
Not in fear. Not in longing. But in peace.
The End