Gingerly, without spilling my tea or setting it down, I reached over and pulled the envelope from the stack. I tried to open it without letting go of my tea, but that proved impossible. Setting the tea down, I ran my finger along the edge and pulled out the letter within.
I’ve had some bad news–it seems I have an inoperable brain tumor. I’ve been seeing six specialists. They all had the same thing to say, “You’re dying.” So, it seems I’m dying. They are saying I have three months to live.
This is hard for me to ask, but I would like you to come and stay with me to the end. There are things I’ve always wanted to tell, but never got around to it. Seems if I don’t do it now, I’m never going to have the chance. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to make my mark on the world, but as I look back now, I missed out on you.
I know it is a lot to ask, but please, come.
My hands began to tremble; my chest tightened. Dying? That couldn’t be right.
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