That Christmas, Jared and I talked about Thomas.
Not Thomas the patient.
Thomas the man.
His terrible dancing.
His ridiculous socks.
His obsession with weather reports.
The chocolate he hid behind frozen vegetables.
We laughed for hours.
And slowly, grief changed.
It stopped being only proof that someone was missing.
It became proof that someone wonderful had once been there.
Eventually, I found one final message Thomas had left for me.
There were no property secrets inside.
No financial instructions.
No lesson for Jared.
Just love.
And permission to enjoy what remained of my life.
That night, I walked down to the lake and sat on the bench.
No phone calls demanding money.
No bills belonging to someone else.
No guest room I needed to earn.
No person waiting for me to rescue them.
Jared still loved me.
But he was learning to stand on his own.
Vanessa was learning to build a life that didn’t depend on competing with someone else.
