Nico
She was gone.
People kept saying it like it was a fact, like words could make it real. She’s gone, Nico. She’s with God now. She’s in a better place.
But none of it made sense.
I had spent years avoiding her. Not out of hatred—at least that’s what I told myself—but because being near her dragged me back to a past I’d spent my whole life trying to bury. Every visit, every phone call, every glance at her face brought back things I didn’t want to remember.
So I gave her as little of me as I could: quick dinners, a few short conversations, birthdays where I showed up late and left early. It was easier to stay busy, keep my hands full with business, and convince myself I was protecting her better by keeping my distance.
And now she was gone.
I kept replaying that last moment—the one
