“Marry me, Nora,” he whispered.
My pulse spiked instantly. “Julian… you are gravely ill. We barely know each other.”
“I refuse to let the state manage my final hours,” he said, gently brushing his thumb against my knuckles. “My ultimate wish is to leave this world as a married man, not just a forgotten administrative file.”
I understood how eccentric the proposition sounded. Even so, two days later, a hospital chaplain united us in matrimony. I wore a simple yellow sweater. Lacking a traditional wedding ring, Julian slipped a discarded soda can pull tab onto my finger instead.
For the next seven days, I stayed rooted by his side. I held his hand through every labored breath until his heart finally gave out. Afterward, I sat in total solitude within his empty room, overwhelmed by the profound emptiness someone I had known for such a brief time could leave behind.
