My Goodbye Drove Him Mad

A week passed.

Nellie walked in, guilt all over her face.

"Mrs. Palmer's funeral is over. Don't you... want to say goodbye?"

I lay in the hospital bed, barely there. Shook my head.

"No point. I don't deserve it. Seeing me now... it'd only hurt her. Why did you save me? I should have died."

Nellie pulled me into a hug, patting my back gently. "It's not your fault. Please stop blaming yourself. Let's get out of here for a bit. Anywhere you wanna go?"

I stared out the window, eyes dull.

An hour later, I was in a wheelchair, rolling through the garden below Pedro's old house.

"This used to be our spot," I said. "When we were kids. Every time we played hide-and-seek, I'd pick the bushes. He always found me but never said a word. He proposed to me right here, too."

Nellie wrapped her arms around me from behind, camera angled at my face.

"Just try one more time—for him. Please."

I looked back at her, voice soft.

"Then take a photo. I don't wanna forget this place."

I insisted on the swing.

Two swings in, and I collapsed.

The video froze mid-air—me flung up, face caught in this weird, goofy expression.

Nellie's face drained. She bolted over.

"We're going back. Now. This is my fault—I never should've brought you here."

I wiped her tears, managing a smile.

"Silly. Why are you crying? Even if I'd stayed in that hospital bed, it'd still end the same."

Her voice shook as she spoke.

"Pedro's been grinding nonstop. He's in talks with this small medical startup. If he lands funding, his dream might actually happen. You've gotta hold on—just till then."

I blinked.

"A medical startup? He'll need a test subject, right? I couldn't save his mom... but maybe I can still help him build what we dreamed of."

That night, I made my first-ever post.

Used the swing photo—midair, frozen in that ridiculous smile.

Pedro's friend liked it.

Then the call came.

My heart stopped.

"Ruth. My mom's dead and you're out taking joyrides? When did you get so cold? Maybe I was just blind. But one day—you'll regret this."

Click.

Call ended.

Tears rolled down.

"Too late... I already do."

I regretted not marrying you sooner.

Regretted not holding on just a little longer.

After signing the body donation papers, I kept going—two more weeks of treatment.

It didn't matter.

My body was shot.

I drifted in and out, faces fading, memories slipping like water.

When Nellie came by to film again, I smiled weakly.

"What kind of girl visits a patient with empty hands?"

She saw right through it—laughing and crying all at once.

"Get me out of here," I said. "I want to plan my own funeral. I don't have anyone left."

Nellie cracked. "Don't say that. I'll help you—I'll stay until you get better."

"You know that's not happening. Just help me with this one last thing, okay?"

I picked the same funeral home where Mrs. Palmer was buried.

It took three coughing fits and a trail of blood just to get there.

The staff looked uneasy when they realized the girl planning the funeral was the one dying.

A few of the older ones already had tears in their eyes.

I waved it off, slapped my card on the counter.

"Doesn't matter if it's ten grand or five hundred—just make sure I'm cremated. Throw in some glitter with the ashes. Girls like sparkle."

I grinned. "Since cremation's free now, let's splurge on dresses. Princess gowns. I never got to wear one.

"Make them white. Wedding-dress white. Can't be worse than the one Pedro designed. Actually—never mind. You won't get my taste. I'll pick myself."

My shaky fingers swiped across the tablet.

Stopped on a gown.

"This one. Looks a lot like the one Pedro made. That way... he'll recognize me when it's his turn."

I looked up.

"Let me try it on first."

***

In a rental apartment.

Wearing the funeral dress was easy.

But with no hair, the veil had nothing to cling to.

The girl in the mirror—slumped in a wheelchair—was a ghost of the one in the bridal shop.

I tried to smile. It came out worse than a frown.

"Forget it. Pedro will be old by then too. He won't have the right to complain. If he doesn't recognize me, I'll punish him—make him play hide-and-seek. I won't let him find me."

The smile faded.

My hand slipped off the wheelchair.

"Ruth—"

"Quick, get help!"

"No... it's too late. She's not breathing."

My eyes stayed open, locked on the mirror—on that dream of happiness.

One tear slipped down.

Pedro, you better marry me in the next life.

Everything I owe you... I'll pay it back then.