September 14, 2051
Months.
It had been months since Kate and Castle last read a page from their journal. Tumultuous months filled with anxiety and fear. Months in which their journal scarcely crossed their minds as they were forced to face the reality of their increasing ages and declining health.
Castle didn't write to her as often now either, largely because their lives were much less hectic than they had been many years ago. But she knew he'd written to her at least once recently; she'd written to him, too. Her letter was still tucked away between the pages of their journal, where it had been for the past sixteen months.
Castle's brow furrowed in confusion as he lifted the folded sheet of paper, smoothed away the creases with hands less nimble than they used to be. "I don't remember writing this."
"You didn't," Kate answered softly. "I did."
He glimpsed the date at the top, nodded in understanding. He recognized that date. He always would.
May 10, 2050
Dear Castle,
I'm scared. It's been a long time since I've been this afraid of anything. I know if I just talked to you, you'd know exactly what to say to calm me down. You always do. But I don't want to burden you with my fears when I know you're already dealing with your own, so I'm hoping I can write them out instead.
Today you were diagnosed with prostate cancer. Even just writing the words seems so wrong. There's no way I'm ready to say it aloud.
I know the doctors said your prognosis was good, that it was caught early and with radiation therapy there's a 95% chance the tumor will shrink or even disappear and you'll remain otherwise healthy. The odds are strongly in your favor and rationally I know things will probably be okay. But rationality couldn't be further from my mind right now. Maybe I've inherited some of your writer's brain over the years, because all I can do is play out the alternate scenarios. No matter how unlikely the alternative is – because in this case there are really only two possible outcomes – it's the only thing I can see. I can't turn it off.
The thought of living without you has me paralyzed. I'm so grateful we've had 38 years together and I treasure every minute of it, but I'm not ready for our time together to end. I'm not ready to let you go. I'll never be ready for that.
They say it's important to remain positive, and I'm trying to do that for you. I'm trying to keep things as normal as possible. I'm trying to stay optimistic. I'm trying to believe that everything really, truly will be okay in the end.
But if by some small chance things do end badly, please remember that I'll be here for you through it all. I'll do anything you need, anything I can to help you. I'll be by your side until the very end. And please never forget that I love you with everything I have. I always will.
Love,
Kate
Castle was cancer-free now. He had been for almost six months. But the effects of the diagnosis and treatment still lingered. He'd responded well to the radiation; a few pounds lost but fortunately no other severe side effects.
But the fear of the cancer returning – regardless of how unlikely the oncologist said that was – was there. It would probably always be there, and it hung over not only him, but their entire family.
The important thing, though, was that he was alive and healthy, and he'd been fortunate enough to witness all the moments he'd worried he might miss.
Lily and Matthew's second son – Max – would turn one next month. Reece and Gianna had walked down the aisle three months earlier in a beautiful ceremony by the pond at the Beckett family cabin. And Jake and Aiden were nearing completion of the adoption process and preparing to welcome not one, but two children into their family – two-year-old twins Elena and Cora.
Despite the cancer diagnosis, and despite the lingering fear, Castle found he was proud of the life he'd lived and the family he'd created. He wasn't ready to die – from cancer or from any other cause – but it was something he thought he was maybe gradually beginning to come to terms with. He'd published fifty-eight novels. He had four children and four – soon to be six – grandchildren. He'd been married to his incredibly amazing wife for thirty-six years. He had a lot to be proud of.
After a long moment lost in their own thoughts, Kate slipped the letter from his hands, gently folded it back into quarters, and the crinkling of the paper drew Castle's attention back to their journal. The notebook still lay on the bed in front of them, open to his letter from the exact same day.
She set the folded sheet of paper aside and, by mutual silent agreement, they turned their attention now to his words.
May 10, 2050
Dear Kate,
Cancer.
I have cancer.
Just writing those words makes me want to cry and yell and throw something and wrap you in my arms and never let you go.
I'm so afraid.
Everything will probably be okay. That's what the doctors said, and I want to believe them. I've always heard that keeping a positive outlook is important in situations such as this. But it's hard to banish the frightening and negative thoughts from my mind. I can't stop cycling through all the what-ifs.
What if I don't make it? What if this is the end? I've raised four kids, watched two of my grandkids grow up and watched the third grow into a precocious almost three year old.
But what about everything that hasn't happened yet? What about all the things I'll miss? Lily is pregnant again, but what if I don't make it to October and I never get to meet our second grandson? Reece just proposed, and he and Gianna are getting married next summer. What if I miss their wedding? Jake and Aiden just began the process of adoption. What if I never get to meet their child?
What about the other grandchildren and maybe even great-grandchildren I'll never get to meet?
What about you, Kate? My heart breaks at the thought of leaving you so soon. I'm not ready for our love story to end.
I can't imagine living without you; I don't know what I'd do, but I'm certain I'd fall apart. I know that makes me a hypocrite, but I need you to promise me you'll be okay in my absence. I need to know that you'll be able to keep living and that you'll find happiness. I need to know that you'll still smile and laugh, because the world is a better place when you do.
Promise me, Kate. Promise me you'll find a way to move on. Promise me you'll be there for Alexis, for Lily and the boys, for Connor and Emma and Joey. Promise me you all will band together as a family and help each other through this. If worse comes to worse and this really is the end for me, I need to know that my family will be okay. It's the only thing that will bring me any semblance of peace.
I hope it doesn't come to this. I hope the doctors are right and the treatment is successful and I can stay in this world, with you and our family, for a few more years. But in case it's not, always remember that I love you more than anything in the world. Being your husband has been the greatest adventure of my life and I treasure every moment of it. I'm proud of us. I'm proud of the family we've created. I'm proud of you.
I love you.
Always.
Rick
"We'll be okay," she murmured, hoping her voice sounded stronger than it felt.
They were no strangers to the fragility of life or the harsh reality that everything could end in an instant. It was a fact they'd lived with for the duration of their relationship, one that had spawned numerous arguments and forced an immense amount of contemplation and reluctant acceptance.
Kate couldn't imagine living without Castle. She knew losing him would devastate her. She knew it would break her in ways she could scarcely begin to imagine. But she also knew that she had thirty-eight years of memories to hold onto and a family she could lean on. She knew they would help each other through their grief.
It would be difficult. She had no doubt that at times it would seem an insurmountable task. But eventually, they'd figure out how to be okay.
For Castle, she could promise that.
"You're wrong, though," Kate murmured after a long moment, glancing back to Castle's words and offering a slight change of subject.
"What?"
She nodded to the page. "Our love story won't end when one of us dies. It lives on every day in our kids and grandkids. And in here," she added, tracing his words with her index finger.
Castle found a smile spreading his lips, still so in awe of his wife after all these years. For a woman he'd initially characterized as skeptical and pessimistic, her optimism and belief – in them, in love, in magic – had been a continual and pleasant surprise.
"I love you," he whispered, tilting his chin to press his lips to her cheek.
Kate smiled, turned to capture his lips in her own. "Love you too, Babe."
Thoughts?