James Brighton

I still remember your face. The way you looked at me on that cold winter night when I told you something that shattered your heart forever. "I've spent a night with Kelly. I'm with her now! She's a helluva lot better then you! In fact, you couldn't even hold a candle to her!". Those were the last words I said to you. You took off your wedding ring and threw it in my face. Then you kicked me out of the house, cursing my name and telling me to never come back. I deserved it. In fact, I was HOPING for it! A little white lie to spare you and our daughter Angela, barely two years old, from what comes next. I was at the clinic the next day, tapping my foot nervously and waiting for the doctor to call my name. "Mister Brighton? Time for your therapy...". The doctor's voice was cold, professional. He didn't give a damn if I make it out alive. Didn't care about the lies I told you just to spare you from watching me die a slow death from the disease that gnawed at my insides. I tried to tell myself that it was noble, that it was for the best! But was it? Or was it just cowardice on my part? That question hangs in my mind every night as I lie awake in my hospital bed. Every moment spent without you and Angela felt like a ninth circle of hell. But I had to endure! For your sake, if not mine... I talked to my lawyer. Made sure you get EVERYTHING after I'm gone. The house, the car, my bank account, my old Harley, the diner downtown that paid for it... And the letter I wrote to you. The one you were supposed to open long after my funeral. The one you probably threw in the trash... Six monts. It's what the doctors gave me, at best. I was with my lawyer, writing the last few details into my last will and testament... How I want my body to be cremated, and my ashes scattered on the place where we first met. Then the CALL came. My doctor, telling me that my latest test results came in... A miracle! I will live.