Promise Me

Hospitals stink of antiseptic.

I hate it.

Yet here I was, in a hospital, in the room were Annie has stayed now for possibly 10 months. And with every month she has gotten weaker and weaker, fading away from my eyes from the cancer.

“Bradley,” she hoarsly said my name, “Come here.”

I walked to her bedside and kneeled down, eyes level with hers, “What do you need Annie?”

“Grab hold of my hand.”

I did as I was told, noticing how thin and fragile her hand felt in mine, “Now honey, I want you to promise me something. Promise me,” Annie took a shuddering breath, “Promise me you will move on after me and find someone else.”

“No! I’m not doing that! You’re going to make it! You’ll be okay,” Tears of anger and sadness were already falling down my cheeks. Her words were reminding me of the reality that she will die, any day now in fact.

“Haven’t you listened to the doctor’s, Brad?” she was crying now too, “Please do this for me?”

I looked at her beautiful frail face, “Ok, I promise.”

Her smile made me melt.

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