Somewhere Only We Know

Preface

I reached with my trembling hand to grab the icy glass of water on the bedside table. My wrinkled hand grasped onto the glass and brought it to my dry lips. I sighed at the relief the water brought as I carefully drank it, though my body was still aching terribly. I returned the glass to the table, and let my hands rest over the covers of the bed as I sat propped up with a pillow, my head against the headboard.

Sitting around my bed were my three middle-aged children. I tried to smile at them in an attempt to alleviate their worries about me. They tried to answer my smile, but each came out pained.

"You should get some rest, Mom," my eldest son said. I shook my head at my son, who was beginning to get grey hairs.

He sighed in defeat, and leaned back against his chair.

The clock on the bedside table ticked, marking every last second of my life. I felt my lips pull into a frown as I recalled my doctor's awful news I received a month ago. He had stated I had at most two years left to live. He and I both knew, however, that I wouldn't live to be another year older, not by a long shot. Bed rest, the doctor had mentioned, would be the only way to cure me, due to the absence of effective treatments for my condition.

I noticed the sudden silence of the room, my daughter looking at me with tears lining her eyes. My youngest son looked at me as though I might die at any second; his every action was careful, deliberately slow. Even as he gave me yet another blanket, he acted as though he was placing the last card on top of a whole house made fragilely out of playing cards. I sighed, thanking him quietly for his caring gesture.

The silence was beginning to take a toll on my already draining sanity, and the incessant ticking of the clock was not helping in the slightest.

"Have I ever told you about how I met your father?" I suddenly asked my children curiously, eager to ruin this silence. I frowned at my voice, which was raspy with age and sickness.

My children shook their heads, their eyes sparking with curiosity. I had never shared much about their father with them, though I felt I had substantial reasoning to that action. The tale of my late husband was filled with unbelievable love and happiness, as well as sadness. I could never find myself able to speak freely about our early years together, but I felt my children had a right to know, especially now that my days were numbered.

I took a shaky breath and began my story.

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AN: So, this is my first attempt at an all human story. I hope you all enjoy it! I will post the first chapter as soon as I can.