The Last Goodbye

The chemotherapy had taken Elena's hair first, then her appetite, and finally, last Tuesday, her life. Marco stood in their bedroom, holding the silk scarf she'd worn to dinner on their anniversary—his last attempt at normalcy before the hospital beds and morphine pumps took over.

He should call Sarah. She'd been his best friend since college, the one person who'd sat with him through the divorce, the promotion that fell through, the years of trying to conceive. But Sarah had also been Elena's friend. Which side did she fall on now that there was no one left to take sides?

Marco's phone buzzed. Sarah, of course. She always knew.

"I'm coming over," she said when he answered, no hello necessary. "Don't bother cleaning up. I'll bring wine."

She arrived twenty minutes later with a bottle of Malbec and takeout from the Thai place Elena had loved. They ate on the floor of the living room, surrounded by boxes Elena had packed but never labeled—donation, keep, maybe later. The uncertainty of her intentions felt like a betrayal.

"You know," Sarah said, setting down her glass, "she told me once that you reminded her of a bull in a china shop. All this power and energy, but terrified of breaking something delicate."

Marco laughed, startled. "She never said that to me."

"She didn't have to. You knew. She knew." Sarah reached across the coffee table, her fingers brushing his wrist. "What are you going to do now, Marco?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. What was he without someone to be careful for? Without someone whose hair he could brush back from their forehead while they slept?

"I don't know," he said finally. "I keep thinking I should sell the house. Start over."

"Or," Sarah said quietly, "you could stay. Let me help you figure out who you are when you're not being someone's husband."

She didn't say friend. She didn't have to. The word sat between them like a promise, complicated and alive. Elena had been gone four days, and already Marco was learning that grief didn't move in a straight line. It circled, like a bull preparing to charge, knocking down everything he thought he knew about what came next.

He picked up his wine glass and met Sarah's eyes. "Stay," he said. "Please."

Outside, the first snow of winter began to fall, covering everything in white. Tomorrow he would have to figure out how to live in this house without her. Tonight, he let himself be held by the one person who understood exactly how much he'd lost.