I opened the note, my hands trembling slightly. Jake’s handwriting was familiar—sharp and a bit hurried, as if his mind was racing faster than his pen.
Paul,
If you’re reading this, it means I backed out. Or maybe time simply ran out for me. Either way, I’m sorry.
I should never have let something as trivial as Laura come between us. That’s my fault. But that’s not the reason I wanted to reach out.
Some time ago, I found out I lost the bet.
My heart skipped a beat. I clutched the note tighter.
I have cancer, Paul. The bad kind—the kind where doctors only talk about “keeping you comfortable.” I thought I had more time, but life has a way of surprising you, doesn’t it?
I wanted to see you one last time, to laugh about our silly bet, and to tell you I’ve always thought of you as my brother. But I was scared. Scared you’d be angry. Scared you’d pity me. Scared I’d break down in front of you.
So I left this instead.
I know you, Paul. You’ll sit there, finish your beer, and wonder why I didn’t face you directly. The truth is, I wanted to remember us as we were—two kids who thought time was endless.
Take care of Laura. Take care of your daughter. And don’t waste time on grudges over things that don’t matter.
You won the bet, Paul. Now make the most of the time you have.
– Jake
I read the note three times before setting it down. My chest felt heavy, and my throat tightened. I glanced at the pint glass before me—untouched. I didn’t know if I wanted to drink it or throw it against the wall.
Jake was gone.
And I never got to say goodbye.
I didn’t head straight home. Instead, I drove without direction, Jake’s words echoing in my mind. Eventually, I stopped at the park where we used to race as kids. I sat on a swing, gripping the chains, staring at the empty basketball court where we had spent countless summers.
I thought about all the time lost. All the years we could have shared if only we had been less stubborn and more willing to let go.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Laura’s name. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” she said warmly. “How did it go?”
I swallowed hard. “Jake’s gone.”
A pause. “Gone?”
I read her the note, my voice shaky. After I finished, she was silent for a long moment.
“Come home,” she whispered at last.
That night, as I tucked my daughter into bed, she looked up sleepily. “Daddy, why are you sad?”
I hesitated, then gently brushed a curl from her forehead. “I lost a friend today.”
