unwritten.
A woman in her late thirties sat with her thirteen-year-old daughter. Her daughter had just broken up with her first boyfriend, and she was crying.
"Sweetie, it always gets better," the woman soothed.
"Mom, how do you know? How long did it take you to get over your first love?"
The woman smiled a little. "A while. But that was different. Neither of us wanted it to end."
"Who was he, Mom?"
The woman knew this would come some day. She went over to a shelf in her room and grabbed a nice leather notebook. She blew some dust off of it and revealed the words Noah + Addie written on the front.
"I wrote it when I was fifteen, when I found out he was going to die," she said quietly.
The thirteen-year-old read the whole book. At the last page, she looked up at her mother. "It stops in the middle, Mom."
Her mother nodded. "That's when his mother called me in. He died in the middle of the night."
The thirteen-year-old was on the verge of tears. The story warmed her heart "But Mom, why didn't you write that in?" she managed to choke out.
"Some stories are better left unwritten," said a voice. The woman turned and saw her husband.
"Zeke," she said, smiling. Her husband kissed her.
A little boy about five years old came running in the room.
"Mommy!" he cried and grabbed the woman's leg.
The woman took the boy in her arms. "Noah," she said, kissing his forehead. "My little boy."
THE END.
chapter forty-three
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