Your wife was my...Read more
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I want… I want you to live well, you hear me?”
His voice wasn’t rough anymore. It was soft, almost fatherly.
“You’ve got to take care of yourself. She wouldn’t want you wasting away in grief. She wouldn’t want you breaking apart like this.”
I swallowed hard, unable to look away from him.
He continued, “Remember her. Not just the pain of losing her — remember the good. The laughs. The late-night talks. The way she lit up when she talked about you.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. “She was a good woman. One of the best souls I ever met. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget her.”
My throat tightened. I managed to whisper, “I won’t. I promise.”
The biker squeezed my shoulder once more, firm and steady. “Good. Because men like us… we don’t get many people like her in our lives. When we do, we honor them by living — not by drowning.”
He stepped back, wiped the corner of his eye with his thumb, then let out a slow breath. “I think this is my last visit. You’re here now. She’s not alone anymore.”
With that, he turned and walked toward his motorcycle. The wind tugged at his jacket as he swung a leg over the seat. Before starting the engine, he looked back at me one final time.
“Take care of her memory, brother. She changed my life. Don’t let the world forget her.”
Then he rode away, the rumble fading down the quiet road.
I stood there long after he was gone, staring at Sarah’s name carved in marble. For the first time in months, the grief didn’t feel like a weight crushing me.
It felt like something I could carry.
I knelt beside her grave, touched the cool stone, and whispered:
May you like
“I’ll live well. For you. For us. I promise.”
A soft breeze moved through the trees — warm, gentle, almost like a hand brushing across my cheek — and for a moment, I swear I could feel her smiling.
