I Sent Him 89 Voice Messages He Sent 89 Transfers Chapter 11

I Sent Him 89 Voice Messages He Sent 89 Transfers Chapter 11

Cole closed his eyes. Tears fell again.

Even just a fraction of that agony was enough to push him to the brink of despair.

How had his Maya survived it?

He finally understood. Her choice to end her life was not cowardice, but a final escape from endless suffering.

The release of someone who couldn’t take it anymore.

Cole donated all his money.

He started a bone cancer research foundation in Maya’s name.

He hoped no one else would ever die like she did. Alone. In agony.

Years passed.

Cole never dated again. Never talked about marriage.

Many people attempted to introduce potential partners to him. He turned them all down.

On his ring finger, he always wore that diamond ring.

The ring he’d put on her finger four years too late.

Every year on August twentieth, the anniversary of Maya’s death, Cole canceled everything.

He brought a bouquet of wild daisies and spent the whole day at the cemetery.

He’d sit by her grave and talk to her.

Like she was still there.

“Maya, the foundation funded a hundred patients this year.”

“There’s a little girl with the same bone cancer you had.”

“The surgery was a great success, and she is able to walk again.”

“Maya, do you see that?”

“Maya, I’m old now.”

“My hair is white. My eyes are failing.”

“But I still remember you at twenty.”

“You in your white dress, standing in the sun, smiling at me.”

“Maya, I miss you.”

“I miss you so much.”

Four decades slipped by.

Cole Hawthorne was eighty-seven.

He got sick. Lay in a bed at the base hospital.

He refused all treatment.

“Don’t bother.”

“I’m going to find my Maya.”

“She has waited for forty long years and must be growing weary.”

On a sunny morning, Cole closed his eyes.

In his hand, he clutched a dried wild daisy.

And the diamond ring he’d worn for forty years.

As he’d wished, they buried him next to Maya.

No rank was carved on his headstone. No achievements.

Just one line.

“Cole Hawthorne — Husband of Maya Vance.”

A gentle wind swept over the graveyard, carrying the faint fragrance of wild chrysanthemums.

It was as if two young figures walked side by side in the sunlight.

The young man in military field uniforms, grinning, tucking a wild daisy behind the girl’s ear.

“Maya Vance, will you marry me?”

The girl blushed and nodded.

“Yes.”

This time, they would never be apart again.