"I never once celebrated your birthday," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking as grief rose like a tide in his chest, "I never once thanked you for waiting for me every night… for cooking for me… for loving me even when I never gave you anything back. I didn't appreciate your presence in our lives and the kids'"
The breeze rustled softly through the maple branches overhead, cool and fleeting against his burning skin.
"I thought you would always be there, I thought you would always wait," he continued, his words ragged with regret, "I thought there would always be time… but in the end… all I gave you was a cold, lonely life… and a cold, lonely death."
A tear slipped down his cheek, falling onto the sun-warmed marble below.
