She promised that we would be together, but she died in the fall of the year.
I wanted to go to her funeral, but my wife said I couldn't. She said that if I went, I'd never come back. I didn't want to hear what she had to say, so I stayed home.
The next day, she came to my room and told me he was sorry. She sat down and talked to me for a long time.
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She promised that we would be together, but I knew she was lying. I didn't want to believe it.
"If you're going to tell me that he's dead, then I'll believe you."
She looked away from me. "I can't tell you that. You're not ready for that yet."
I shook my head. "You're always saying that I have to move on, and now you're telling me I can't. Why can't you just tell me what happened?"
Her eyes searched the room, as if she were looking for someone to help her. "This is a difficult place for you," she said.
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