The Love That Remains

Time had always been cruel in the way it slipped through Caesar's fingers.

It took everything slowly at first—one wrinkle at a time, one gray hair, one forgotten memory.

But in the end, time was a thief that took everything.

And now, it was taking her.

---

Blythe had always been the strongest person Caesar knew.

Even in old age, when her body grew frail and her steps slower, she never lost the fire in her spirit.

She still teased him when he forgot where he put his glasses.

Still argued with him over the best way to make coffee.

Still smiled at him like he was the only man in the world.

But lately, her smiles were tired.

Lately, her hands trembled when she reached for her cup.

Lately, she had been fading.

And Caesar hated it.

---

One evening, they sat on their porch together, wrapped in the same knitted blanket they had shared for decades.

The sunset painted the sky in soft pinks and oranges, casting a golden glow over Blythe's face.

She looked beautiful.

Just as she always had.

Caesar reached for her hand, squeezing gently.

She squeezed back, her touch weaker than before.

"Do you remember the first time we sat out here like this?" she murmured.

Caesar chuckled. "How could I forget? You made fun of me for being sentimental."

Blythe smirked. "You are sentimental."

"And you love it."

She sighed contentedly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Yeah. I do."

Silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm.

Then, after a moment, Blythe whispered—

"I think it's almost time."

Caesar froze.

His grip on her hand tightened instinctively, as if holding her closer could stop what was coming.

"Blythe…"

She lifted her head, smiling softly at him.

"Don't look at me like that, Caesar," she murmured. "We've had a good run, haven't we?"

His throat tightened. "Not long enough."

She chuckled. "Seventy years together isn't long enough?"

"No." His voice cracked. "Not even close."

She reached up, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers.

"My love," she whispered, "it was always going to end this way."

Caesar squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against hers.

He had always known this day would come.

But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm not ready," he admitted, his voice barely a breath.

Blythe smiled. "You don't have to be."

Then, with a teasing glint in her tired blue eyes, she whispered—

"Just promise me one thing?"

Caesar exhaled shakily. "Anything."

Blythe's voice softened.

"Keep looking at the sky for me."

Caesar swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Why?"

She smiled.

"Because it's blue."

Clearer than crystal. Brighter than the sky.

Like how much I love you.

It's blue.

---

She passed on a Sunday morning, with the soft glow of dawn spilling through their bedroom window.

Caesar had been holding her hand.

And when she was gone—

The world felt wrong.

How could the earth keep spinning? How could the birds keep singing? How could the wind still move through the trees when she wasn't here anymore?

How was he supposed to breathe without her?

But then, something warm passed through the room.

A whisper of wind. A flicker of sunlight.

And in that moment, he knew—

She hadn't really left.

She was everywhere.

In the wind. In the sky. In the love she had left behind.

And as much as it hurt, as much as the grief crushed him—

He had made a promise.

So he would keep looking at the sky.

For her.

Always.

---

The funeral was small, just as Blythe would have wanted.

Lena stood beside him, gripping his hand tightly as they watched her mother's casket lower into the earth.

And Caesar—God, Caesar—

He had never known pain like this.

He had lost people before. Friends, family.

But never her.

Never Blythe.

Lena leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.

"She wouldn't want you to be sad."

Caesar swallowed hard. "I know."

And he did.

But that didn't make it any easier.

---

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

Caesar learned how to live without Blythe.

But he never stopped missing her.

Some mornings, he woke up reaching for her before remembering she was gone.

Some nights, he sat on the porch alone, whispering to the sky, hoping she could still hear him.

And maybe she did.

Because every time he looked up, the sky was still blue.

And he still felt her.

Even now.

Even always.

---

One evening, Lena sat beside him, flipping through an old photo album.

Caesar smiled faintly as he looked at the pictures—

Blythe, laughing at their wedding.

Blythe, holding a newborn Lena.

Blythe, standing on this very porch, her hair blowing in the wind, her blue eyes shining.

"She was beautiful," Lena murmured.

Caesar exhaled. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a long time, the pages turning slowly, memories stretching across decades.

Then Lena looked at him, her expression unreadable.

"Do you think she's waiting for you?"

Caesar's chest tightened.

He thought about Blythe's voice in the wind.

About the warmth in the sunlight.

About the sky that had never stopped being blue.

And he smiled.

"I know she is."

Lena reached over, squeezing his hand.

Caesar looked up at the sky, exhaling softly.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He wasn't afraid.