ManyWriters

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.

The Secret Clutched In My Uncle’s Hand

Tears burst from my eyes, instantly blurring my vision.


I nodded hard, a sob catching in my throat that made it impossible to form a single word. All I could do was reach out, cautiously, gently, and lay my hand over his—the one free of IV tubes, gaunt and ice-cold.


His skin was like rough sandpaper, and the sharp jut of his bones dug into my palm.


With immense difficulty, as if summoning every last ounce of his being, he tried to lift the hand I held.


The movement was so faint it was nearly imperceptible. Each tiny twitch tugged at the tubes connected to his body, drawing a ragged, painful gasp from his lips. The line on the heart monitor spiked erratically, and the machine let out a piercing shriek.


Panic seized me, and my voice cracked with a sob as I frantically pressed his hand down. "I'm here! I'm here! Don't move! Please!"


Chapter 11