Chapter 4 - The Night Rosemary DiedTristan sat beside the altar.
For the first time, he seemed unable to move.
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
“I should have come home.”
“Yes.”
“I thought she had more time.”
“She did too.”
I sat across from him.
“Until she didn't.”
He lowered his head.
“What happened?”
I told him.
It had been raining.
Rosemary had been in bed.
She couldn't breathe.
I called the ambulance.
She refused to leave the house.
She kept saying she wanted to die in her own room.
So I stayed.
She held my hand.
“Shelby,” she whispered.
“I'm here.”
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don't let Tristan destroy himself.”
I cried.
“I can't control him.”
“I know.”
She squeezed my hand.
“But you can refuse to let him destroy you.”
Those were her final words.
Then she closed her eyes.
She died at 3:17 a.m.
I told Tristan everything.
He covered his face.
“I wasn't there.”
“No.”
“I was with Amber.”
“Yes.”
He cried silently.
I didn't comfort him.
Not because I was cruel.
Because some grief had to be carried alone.
After several minutes, he looked up.
“What else did she leave?”
I handed him another envelope.
“Read it.”
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Rosemary and me at the hospital.
On the back, she had written:
My daughter by choice.
Tristan stared at it.
Then he began crying again.
“You were everything to her.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“And I abandoned you.”
“Yes.”
“I abandoned her.”
“Yes.”
“And I brought another woman into the house.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Amber.
She was sitting alone in the corner.
The baby slept against her shoulder.
Tristan whispered:
“Why didn't you fight for me?”
May you like
I almost smiled.
“Because I stopped fighting for people who had already chosen to leave.”
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