Chapter 29
It happened on a Tuesday.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
Just like he would have wanted.
We were in bed.
It was early morning.
The sun was just coming up.
Pink and gold through the curtains.
David was holding my hand.
Like he always did.
He’d been sick for a few weeks.
The doctors said it was just old age.
His body was tired.
Ready.
He woke me up.
Softly.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” I said. I turned to face him.
He looked tired.
But peaceful.
Happy.
“I love you,” he said. “So much. More than anything.”
“I love you too,” I said. “More than words.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Remember the first time I saw you?” he said. “At that party. You were wearing that red dress. You were laughing. And I thought… that’s her. That’s the woman I’m going to marry. That’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”
I smiled.
Tears ran down my face.
“I remember,” I said.
“I’d do it all again,” he said. His voice was getting softer. “Every second. Every tear. Every fight. Every joy. I’d choose you. Every time. In every life. In every world. It’s always been you.”
He closed his eyes.
His breathing got slower.
Softer.
“Wait for me?” he whispered.
“Always,” I said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He smiled.
And then…
He was gone.
His hand went limp in mine.
His chest stopped moving.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
I held him.
I kissed his forehead.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry out.
I just held him.
And I whispered all the things I still wanted to say.
All the I love yous.
All the thank yous.
All the goodbyes.
The family came.
One by one.
They cried.
They held each other.
They held me.
They said goodbye.
The funeral was three days later.
Hundreds of people.
Family.
Friends.
People from the company.
People from the foundation.
Kids whose lives we’d saved.
All there to say goodbye to the man who’d changed their lives.
Leo gave the eulogy.
He was strong.
Brave.
Just like his dad.
“My father was a good man,” he said. “The best man I ever knew. He wasn’t perfect. None of us are. But he tried. Every single day. He tried to be a good husband. A good father. A good grandfather. A good man. And he succeeded. Beyond measure. He taught me that strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about getting back up. Every time. He taught me that love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a choice. You make it every day. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
He paused.
He looked at me.
“He loved my mother more than anything in this world,” he said. “Fifty-five years. And he never stopped choosing her. Never. They went through things that would have destroyed most people. And they came out stronger. Closer. More in love. That is their legacy. Not the money. Not the companies. Not the foundation. This. Love. Family. Choosing each other. Every single day.”
He looked at the casket.
“Goodbye, Dad,” he said. “We’ll take care of Mom. We’ll take care of each other. We’ll make you proud. I promise. I love you. Forever.”
They lowered him into the ground.
Under an oak tree.
In the cemetery on the hill.
I placed a single red rose on the casket.
The same color as the dress I’d worn the night we met.
“Wait for me,” I whispered again.
And then I turned.
And I walked back to my family.
My big, loud, wonderful, messy family.
Who would hold me up.
Who would love me.
May you like
Who would help me heal.
Just like David would have wanted.
