I guess it’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes when you’re about to die. Or not really. Because I only saw one thing: Noah.
I didn’t need to think, that was just how it was—Noah is my life. The images that flashed before my eyes weren’t the best moments of my life; they were the best moments of our life, and not the life we had shared up to then, no. I didn’t see those moments, with their ups and downs, or the breakup, or the cheating. I saw something else: I saw my life with her to come.
I saw us walking on the beach, celebrating our son’s birthday; I saw her, beautiful and radiant, waiting for me in bed every night to cover me with kisses and caresses. I saw her getting pregnant again, but this time we were ready—there were no surprises, no fears, no insecurities. I saw her with me in the kitchen, arguing but then stopping so we could kiss each other all over, right there, leaning against the countertop. I saw her crying, laughing, suffering, growing. I saw her life before my eyes, her life with me…and I loved it.
Then I asked myself, Why am I seeing this? Why do I feel like I’m being permitted to see something I’ll never have? I felt a hole in my chest, an emptiness consuming me…
No.
No fucking way.
It wasn’t my time. Not yet.
