The Love That Lasts
Time was a thief.
It took things slowly at first—little moments, tiny changes, so subtle that Caesar barely noticed them.
The lines on Blythe's face grew deeper, the silver in her hair more pronounced. Her hands, once steady and precise, trembled slightly when she held a pen.
But she was still Blythe.
Still sharp, still full of fire, still the woman who had been his entire world since he was a foolish high school boy who almost lost her.
And then, one day, he woke up and realized—
They had grown old.
---
They had spent decades together, filling their days with laughter, adventures, and quiet moments that meant more than any grand gesture ever could.
Lena had grown into an incredible woman—independent, successful, with a family of her own now. She visited often, bringing her kids, filling the house with warmth and energy.
But at the end of every visit, she always hugged them a little tighter.
Like she knew what Caesar refused to acknowledge.
That time was running out.
---
One crisp autumn afternoon, Caesar found Blythe sitting on their porch, wrapped in a thick knitted blanket, staring at the sky.
The same sky they had watched together for years.
He stepped outside, a cup of tea in his hands. "Penny for your thoughts?"
She turned to him, smiling softly. "You'd think after all these years, you'd know them by now."
He chuckled, setting the cup down beside her before taking his usual seat next to her. "Still like hearing them."
Blythe hummed, leaning into his shoulder. "I was just thinking about how fast everything went."
Caesar exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. "Yeah."
A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that only decades of love could create.
Then Blythe whispered, "I hope Lena remembers to look up at the sky sometimes."
Caesar frowned. "What do you mean?"
She smiled gently, tilting her head toward him. "You know what I mean."
His chest tightened.
He didn't want to have this conversation.
Didn't want to admit what was happening.
Because if he did, it would make it real.
And he wasn't ready.
Not yet.
---
The following weeks were harder than Caesar wanted to accept.
Blythe was getting tired more often.
She spent longer in bed, her body slower to move, her breath a little heavier.
Lena came over more frequently, sitting by her mother's bedside, telling stories about her kids, about work, about life.
And Blythe listened—always listened—with that soft, knowing smile.
Like she was memorizing every detail.
Holding on as long as she could.
---
One evening, when it was just the two of them, Blythe reached for Caesar's hand.
"Promise me something," she murmured.
Caesar swallowed hard. "Anything."
She squeezed his fingers, her blue eyes still as beautiful as the day he fell in love with them.
"Don't stop living when I'm gone."
His throat tightened. "Blythe—"
"Promise me, Caesar."
His grip on her hand trembled.
How was he supposed to promise something like that?
How was he supposed to exist in a world without her?
But when he looked into her eyes, full of love, full of certainty, he realized—
She wasn't asking him to forget her.
She was asking him to carry her.
To keep them alive in the way he lived.
So he took a shaky breath and whispered, "I promise."
Blythe smiled.
And in that moment, despite everything, she wasn't afraid.
---
She passed on a Sunday morning, with the soft glow of sunlight spilling through their bedroom window.
Caesar was holding her hand when she took her last breath.
And when she was gone, the world felt wrong.
Because how could the earth keep spinning when the love of his life was no longer in it?
How could he breathe when she wasn't beside him?
How could he exist when the person who had made life worth living was gone?
The grief was unbearable.
Overwhelming.
Crushing.
But he didn't break.
Because he had promised her.
And if there was one thing Caesar Tiu had always done—
It was keeping his promises to Blythe Anderson.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
---
The funeral was small, just the way she would have wanted.
Lena gave a beautiful eulogy, voice shaking but strong, speaking about the mother who had taught her everything.
And Caesar?
He stood in front of their family, their friends, the people whose lives Blythe had touched, and spoke the only truth that had ever mattered.
"She was my heart," he whispered. "And even though she's gone, she always will be."
There wasn't a single dry eye in the room.
Because everyone knew.
Knew how much she had meant to him.
How much she had meant to all of them.
---
That night, after everyone had left, Caesar sat alone on their porch, staring up at the sky.
It was a deep, endless blue.
The same shade as her eyes.
The same sky they had watched together for years.
And in that moment, he wasn't alone.
Because she was everywhere.
In the wind. In the stars. In the memories that would never fade.
He closed his eyes, exhaling softly.
"I love you, Blythe."
And for the first time since she left—
He swore he could hear her whisper back.