Page 149 of Remember Us This Way

Now . . . down to the nitty-gritty. I’ve left you some things.

Under my desk, you should find a box (assuming Mom remembered to put it there. Otherwise, you’re going to have to go on a scavenger hunt through my house. But for the love of all that’s holy, don’t look under my parents’ bed. I made that mistake once, and I’ve never been the same.)

In the box, you’ll find a whole bunch of things, some of them self-explanatory, others I might need to talk you through.

On top, you’ll find your old phone. You lent it to me when I first started chemotherapy, and it was filled with all the pictures of our life together. Only now, I’ve added a few things. Apart from every single photo we’ve taken over the past six months, from selfies of me and Allie to you kissing me on our park prom night, and of course, our engagement and wedding photos, I’ve loaded every single email we’ve ever sent each other, right down to the ones we sent when we were only kids. I’ve gone through it all, by the way, and trust me, we really were partners in crime!!!!

Now, here’s the important part about your old phone, and it’s going to take a little self-control on your part, actually . . . a LOT of self-control. I’ve added a voice note message for every birthday between now and your fiftieth birthday. Now, no judgment. The first ten were creative, but after that, I’m pretty sure they all started to sound the same, just rinsed and recycled. Among those voice notes, there are also a few messages, just random thoughts that have popped into my mind over the past little while, little nothings that somehow meant enough to me to put into words for you.

Next up, are two pressed tulips. The orange one is the very first one you gave me when I started my second round of treatment, and the second—the pink one—is from our wedding day. I’ll never be able to express just how much these tulips meant to me. Seeing your insane ways of having these tulips delivered to me every single day meant the world to me. You put a smile on my face every single time, and because they meant so much to me, I wanted to gift you these two, the most important ones. They were so special to me, and now they get to be special to you.

There’s a whole bunch of other things in there like the little velvet box my engagement ring came in and the infinity charm you gave me for my eighteenth birthday—the very charm that’s identical to our tattoos. God, I loved the way you spoiled me. And don’t even think about giving me the whole “Oh, I can’t take this stuff, it belonged to you” bullshit because I don’t want it left here in this box getting dusty. I want you to have them because apart from me, you’re the only one who’s going to cherish them the way they deserve to be cherished.

Now, here’s the kicker.

My laptop.

I know you’ve been curious about this, and I’ve been keeping it close to my chest because I couldn’t bring myself to show you or explain what I’ve been writing all this time, though deep down, I think you might know. You always know when it comes to me and you.

When you open the laptop, you’ll find a document called Remember Us This Way, and this is our story, from the beginning right up until now. But the problem is, it’s not complete. These past few days, I haven’t been able to type. I haven’t had the strength to finish it, and while I know writing isn’t really your thing, it would mean the world to me if you could finish our story for me.

I know this is the furthest thing from your mind, but I want you to share our story with the world because it deserves to shine. I can’t stand the idea of this journey stopping here with us.

I want to tell the world just how amazing you are, Noah Ryan, and these written words are me screaming from the rooftops. Let the world fall in love with you the way I have, and maybe one day, our story might give someone else the courage to find their own version of happiness.

Zoey’s letter comes to an end, and I stare at her words, a lump forming in my throat, and immediately restart from the beginning. Then after my third full read-through, I lay the letter down on her bed, and my gaze shifts to the space below her desk.

Sure enough, a brown cardboard box stares back at me, and I get up on shaky legs, crossing her room before pulling her desk chair out of the way and picking up the box. I take it back to her bed, place it down, and lift the lid to see all the items she laid out for me in her letter.

I take the phone, swiping my thumb across the screen to see the familiar wallpaper image—me and Zoey grinning at the camera like complete morons. It’s one of my favorite pictures of the two of us, but something tells me that the new ones she added, especially the images taken from our wedding, are going to hold the highest place in my heart.

I quickly scan through them, trying not to linger on any of them for long so I don’t get all choked up again. When I open the voice notes and find one labeled ‘HEARTBEAT’ my brows furrow, and I click on it before the subtle boom boom of Zoey’s heart fills the room.

I fucking crumble, dropping to my knees.

It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, the sound I’ve craved to hear every day for the past week, and here it is. I’ve heard this soft beat a million times before. It’s the sound I’ve lived and loved by. The sound that has kept my own heart beating, and now I have it right here in the palm of my hand, only it’s never sounded so far away.

My back braces against the edge of Zoey’s bed, and I close my eyes, just listening to her heartbeat play on repeat. Then as the late afternoon sun ducks behind the trees, I reach back up to the box and drag it down on the ground beside me.

I go through the few things she’s left, each one breaking me just as I knew it would. Last but not least, I pull out Zoey’s laptop. I stare at it a moment too long before finally finding the courage to open it and find the document that I know will tear open a gaping hole right in the center of my chest. But the second I do, it’s impossible to stop reading her brilliant words. Right here on her bedroom floor, I read over every last word of our story until the bright morning sun beams through Zoey’s bedroom window.

Then the moment I can, I scroll right back up to the beginning and start filling in the pieces of our story, telling it just the way she would have wanted me to.

Epilogue

Noah

FIVE YEARS LATER

After walking through the home I’ve built in East View, right on a hill with a picket fence just for Zoey, I lock up behind myself, feeling good about its progress. It’s just about done. It should get the big stamp of approval in a few weeks, then I’ll be able to start moving in over the summer.

It’s perfect. Maybe a little too big for just me, but it’s everything Zoey and I dreamed of having for our home—the home where we always planned to have children and make memories. Maybe it’s morbid of me to build my dead wife’s dream home as if I could somehow entice her to come back to me.

Fuck. I miss her. Every day still hurts.

The few months following her death were the hardest, and some days, I felt as though I let her down. I was drowning, allowing the darkness to swallow me whole, but I fought through it. The only thing that kept me afloat was the words she’d written on her laptop. I would read it over and over again, taking in our story from her perspective until I’d memorized every word she’d written.

Filling in those last final days tore me to shreds. I would sit there for days on end, listening to the soft sound of her recorded heartbeat while diving into the most haunted remains of my soul, recalling those whispered, broken words that were spoken as I held on to her, and she slipped away from me.

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