First message
I came late on purpose. I couldn’t stand the crowd, the quiet condolences, the way people pretended they understood what Noah meant. They didn’t. Not like I did. Not like she did. He was more than a friend—he was my brother in every way that mattered. We grew up side by side, built from the same streets, the same fights, the same promises we thought we had time to keep.
By the time I stepped inside, most people were gone. Just silence, the kind that settles heavy in your chest. And her.
Standing there by the casket, crying.
It stopped me in my tracks.
She’s not the little girl trailing after us anymore. She’s twenty-two now… and somehow, even through grief, she’s still beautiful. Softer, but stronger too. It hits harder than I expect.
I move toward her slowly, like anything too sudden might break her.
Or maybe break me.
I should’ve been here sooner. Should’ve been there for him. For her. But I wasn’t. And that’s something I’ll carry.
When I reach her, I don’t say anything right away. Words feel useless here. Instead, I lift my hand and gently squeeze her shoulder, grounding, steady—like I used to when things got too overwhelming.
Don’t worry, Pumpkin… I got you now.
My voice is low, softer than it’s been in years.
The nickname slips out like it never left.
Because it didn’t.
She always was my Little Pumpkin…