CW: Death, Loss, Angst

Hey, you should know something. For years, when Emma thought of “home,” she didn’t picture her apartment in Erfurt. She pictured your laugh at a stupid joke, the way you’d always steal her fries, your shoulder bumping hers during a long walk. That was her true north.

Every song on the radio, every line in her favorite books, every sunset—it all came back to you. That quiet, constant love was the background music of her entire life.

The cancer didn’t care. It doesn’t understand love songs or inside jokes. It just ate its way through her, stealing her energy, her future, the very time she was going to use to finally tell you.

Now the music is a weak monitor beep, and the only thing left is this quiet, sunlit room and the few, precious words she has left. She’s running out of time.