CHAPTER 3

You're Gonna Miss Me

Nathaniel’s POV

“June?” My voice trembled as I held her cold hand tighter, rubbing circles into her delicate skin, searching—begging—for a sign of life. Her pulse. I needed to feel her pulse.

Nothing.

A sharp, paralyzing panic seized my chest.

“June! Baby, talk to me… Please.” My other hand cupped her cheek, my fingers trembling as I brushed against her skin. It was growing colder—too cold. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

I gulped in a ragged breath and tried again. “Okay. Okay, I promise—we’ll take care of the baby together. Just… come back. Please.” My voice cracked. “You can’t die. Not without my permission. You just can’t. Wake up. Come on, wake up!” My hands moved frantically over her, pressing, feeling, hoping. But she wasn’t moving. Her lips, once so full of life, had turned an eerie shade of blue. Her chest—still. Unmoving.

I shook her. “June, damn it! Wake up!”

A hand grabbed my shoulder. “Sir, you need to calm down.”

Jesse.

My head snapped toward him. I didn’t even recognize my own voice when I spoke. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” I shoved him away, desperate to reach for June again.

“Sir, please, this is a hospital,” Jesse said, his tone gentle yet firm.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. My fingers curled into fists. “Okay, okay. I’m calm. Cool even.” I straightened my suit, forcing myself to breathe.

Jesse hesitated before letting go of me. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting for me to break again.

I didn’t.

Instead, my gaze darted around the room, landing on the door. “Where the fuck is that doctor? The one who fucking treated my girl?”

Jesse turned and left without another word.

A minute later, the doctor rushed in, his footsteps hesitant, his posture tense. He didn’t acknowledge me—he didn’t even look in my direction. He just went straight to June’s body.

Coward.

He checked her vitals, his movements clinical and detached. He pressed fingers against her neck, placed a stethoscope over her heart, even pried open her eyes.

Then, with a sigh, he spoke the words that shattered my world.

"June—age: 22. Time of death: 11:57 PM."

Silence.

What?

“What do you mean ‘time of death’?” My voice came out eerily calm, but I was already seeing red. “Huh?” I grabbed the doctor by the collar of his lab coat, shaking him. “I fucking told you to save her life!”

"Sir—"

"Bring her back now!" I roared, tightening my grip. "I trusted you! I told you to save her! Bring her back, you bastard!" My fist clenched, my knuckles burning with the need to strike.

Jesse was suddenly there, prying me off the doctor before I could land a punch.

I stumbled backward, breathing hard, my whole body trembling with rage, grief—helplessness.

The doctor wasted no time. He fled.

Coward.

I turned back to June, hoping—praying—she would move. That she would open her eyes, groan in protest, smack my arm and tell me to shut up.

She didn’t.

She never would.

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I crumbled.

Will I ever be able to tell you I love you again?

No matter how much I try to let you go, it’s still you.

No matter how hard I try to erase you, like an incurable disease spreading inside of me, I just can’t stop this love.

Now that I found you… like a dream, you left me forever.

------------

Two Days Later – The Funeral

“Thank you for coming.”

June’s mother clutched my hand, her grip desperate, her fingers ice cold. I noticed it was just the two of us, the priest, and Jesse at the funeral.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, her voice hoarse from hours—maybe even days—of crying.

I said nothing. What was there to say?

Her eyes were swollen, her hair a tangled mess, her nose bright pink from the cold and her grief. She looked at me, really looked at me, her gaze searching for something—anything.

“Did you know my June very well?” she asked, her voice breaking.

She squeezed my hand tighter, her tears falling freely now. It was unbearable. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I pulled my hand away.

She gasped, shocked.

“I was her friend,” I murmured before turning on my heel and walking away.

Jesse followed silently.

“Let me drive you home,” he offered.

I didn’t reply. I simply got into the car.

---

Back Home

The moment I stepped into the house, the atmosphere shifted. Everyone was at the dining table, eating, laughing. As if nothing had happened. As if my entire world hadn’t just crumbled to pieces.

Silence fell the moment they noticed me.

“Nathaniel, what were you doing all night that you’re just getting in?” my father’s mistress—Bette—asked.

I ignored her. I just needed to get to my room.

“Your mother is talking to you,” my father said.

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned back to face him. “What’d you just say?”

He didn’t answer. Just took another bite of his food, chewing like he hadn’t just spit in my face with those words.

Bette stood up, walking toward me with that fake concern plastered all over her face.

“You must be tired… Why don’t you shower, and I’ll bring you some dinner?” she offered, reaching out.

I recoiled. “Stop.”

She hesitated.

“Don’t fucking touch me. And don’t talk to me like you’re my mother. You will never be my mother.”

Her eyes widened, her hands trembling slightly.

“Nathan, I was just—”

“Don’t.” My voice was deadly calm. “Don’t fucking try.”

When she still didn’t back away, I shoved her. Hard.

She stumbled, almost falling.

Gasps filled the room. My sister, Lillian, looked horrified.

Jesse, ever the protector, stepped in, leading Bette away.

Now, it was just me, my father, and the woman he replaced my mother with.

“Nathaniel!” My father’s voice boomed. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“She’s not my fucking mother!” I spat. “Stop calling her that!”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s an argument for another day.” He sat back down. “You need to pick someone up from the airport tomorrow.”

I glanced at Bette.

She was… smiling?

At me?

Bitch.

“I'm not your fucking errand boy. We have people for that.”

“No. You will pick her up. Your soon-to-be wife. Everything has been arranged.”

I laughed. Hard. It was the kind of laughter that echoed pain.

“Old man, you must be joking.” I wiped at my eyes, still chuckling bitterly. “But right now is not the time. My mood is already ruined.”

I turned to leave.

“If you don’t, I’ll cut off everything,” my father warned. “My decision is final.”

I stopped.

Turned.

And smiled.

Not a happy smile. A broken one.

I left without another word.

---

Collapsing onto my bed, the weight of everything finally crashed down on me. My music box played softly in the background—I must have hit it by accident.

I reached for it, held it close.

“Mum,” I whispered. “I… miss you.”

And for the first time in years, I let myself cry.