She liked hearing the details, especially the parts she had forgotten because she had been so overwhelmed by emotion.
"Did I really make everyone cry?" she asked one afternoon.
"Almost everyone."
"Good. It means they were paying attention."
I smiled.
Then she became serious.
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Whatever happens, do not let this become the saddest story you remember about me."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I don't want you to remember only the hospital, the illness, and the funeral that will eventually come. Remember the flowers. Remember the cake. Remember that I laughed."
"I will."
"And remember that I had a good life in ways I never expected."
I squeezed her hand.
"You still have time to make more memories."
She looked at me with a tenderness that made it clear she understood what I was trying to do.
"Perhaps," she said. "But if I don't, I want you to know that this one was enough."
A few weeks later, Eleanor's condition worsened.
The nurses explained that she was approaching the final stage of her illness. They continued caring for her symptoms and keeping her comfortable, but there was little reason to expect a significant recovery.
I visited as often as I could.
Some days, she was awake and able to talk. On others, she slept for long stretches, opening her eyes only briefly when someone spoke to her.
I read aloud from her favorite books, even when she did not respond.
I told her about the weather, the flowers outside the hospice, and the small things happening in the world beyond her room.
One evening, as the light faded, she asked me to sit closer.
"I need to tell you something," she whispered.
I leaned toward her.
"After I'm gone, people may tell you things about me that are not true."
I felt a sudden uneasiness.
"Who would do that?"
"People who think they understand a story because they know the ending."
She paused.
"Don't believe everything you hear. But don't assume I was perfect, either. I made mistakes. I hurt people. I spent too much of my life being afraid."
She looked at me.
"I don't want you to turn me into a saint just because I am dying."
"I wouldn't."
"And I don't want you to turn me into a victim just because I was lonely."
I nodded slowly.
She reached for my hand.
"Promise me you'll read the letter Daniel gives you."
My heart skipped.
"What letter?"
She smiled faintly.
"You'll understand when the time comes."
I wanted to ask more, but she closed her eyes.
I stayed beside her until the nurse came to check on her.
A few days later, Eleanor passed away peacefully.
I was not in the room at the exact moment she died. The hospice staff contacted me, and when I arrived, the room was quiet.
Her wedding ring rested on the small table beside her bed.
I picked it up and held it in my palm.
For several minutes, I could not move.
The woman who had once asked me whether she would look like a bride was gone.
And I was left with a photograph, a ring, and a promise I did not yet understand.
Chapter 6: The Lawyer's Warning
Eleanor's funeral took place beneath a gray sky.
There were only a few people present. The hospice nurses stood together near the grave, and I remained beside the coffin, trying to accept that someone who had become so important to me could leave behind so little visible evidence of her life.
When the service ended, the nurses offered their condolences and began making their way toward the parking lot.
That was when Daniel Whitmore approached me.
He introduced himself as Eleanor's attorney and expressed his sympathy. His manner was professional, but there was something unusually serious about the way he watched me.
"I need a few minutes of your time," he said.
He handed me the envelope.
"She didn't choose you by accident."
I read the letter he had provided, then looked at him.
"What does this mean?"
"Before Eleanor became ill, she asked me to make arrangements for a few things she wanted handled after her death. She also left instructions concerning you."
"Why me?"
"That is what the letter explains. But there is something you should know before you read it."
He paused.
"Eleanor was not as alone as she appeared to be."
I stared at him.