“Yesterday I asked you to take our last photo together because I knew that after today, you would never call me your friend again.
I looked at her and felt like thirty-seven years of our lives were passing before my eyes one after another.
Two little girls in the schoolyard.
Our first school dance.
My wedding.
Birth of my children.
My mother’s funeral.
Michael’s last night at the hospital.
Susan was part of every one of those memories.
But now each of them seems to have two versions.
The one I lived.
And the one I just found out.
The one I knew.
And the one that actually happened.
I said only one thing:
- You were right. This was our last photo.
She’s gone.
Six months have passed since that day.
We didn’t talk.
She sent me two letters.
I didn’t answer any.
But the weird thing is, I still haven’t deleted our last photo.
