The Secret Clutched In My Uncle’s Hand

The year I turned eleven, my parents died.

My father's friend, Uncle Gabriel, carried me home and raised me.

He was by my side for twelve years.

I was secretly in love with him for seven years.

Every birthday, I would muster the courage to confess, only for him to coldly push me away.

"I'm fifteen years older than you. I am your guardian, nothing more."

He brought his fiancée home, and I crouched outside their door, listening to the sounds of their intimacy.

My heart shattered completely.

I packed my bags and left for California.

Five years later, a letter from a hospital in New York City arrived at my studio.

The letter said that in Gabriel's lucid moments, he’d been calling my name.

Stella.