She told him once that she wanted a gift. Something tangible, that she could hold onto when he wasn’t there. Something that showed she meant something to someone. That she meant something to him, after all of those intimate moments together.
Her body and her love.
“We are no longer compatible,” he said.
There would be no gift.
She wanted to die.
She clung to his memory, holding it dear, keeping him close to her heart.
Now all these years later she has this bit of him eating a hole through her soul, its fingers reaching into all of her secret places. Places where he had once been and apparently never actually left.
His gift to her.
We are no longer compatible.
Only now, she wants to live. She finally understands he is not worth dying for.
Except now, she has no choice.
For all of the women suffering from cervical cancer.