She asked to be cremated. I refused. Not yet. Not until I got my answers. Not like she could object. We were both faded by the end. Took eight months. Barely spoke, never touched. Love gave in to hate. Divorce. No. Too many papers and stress. Wasn’t worth the effort. Both couldn’t wait for her to go. She passed. Instead of being “With the wind,” I had her prepared. No kids. No objections. No one left to respect her final wishes.

I wanted her as a Tome. She didn’t. I had the pulse. She lost hers. 2047. Reading made its comeback. New tech. Allowed for everything that you were to be ripped, transferred, and stored into a printed book. One person, one copy. Every thought. Every action. Every secret. 

Made the payment using our shared account. Made me chuckle. She would’ve hated that. 

The process took a month. I was patient. Knew what I was getting was worth it. 

In the end, she wasn’t scared of death. No. She was scared of being discovered. She hated that I outlasted her. Knew this was coming. Knew I’d do this to her.

It arrived. Page by page I learned who she really was. Everything she kept hidden away until her bitter end. Behind that black box in her chest.
It was heavy. Just under 1000 pages. Took another month to read. I took my time. Learned so many things. 

Every fear. Every suspicion. I was right about it all. Married a completely different person. 

Friends. Family. Tribulations. Tragedies. All that shaped her, I had to learn from her Tome. 

It hurt. Before the end I would’ve wanted her to share this with me. It shouldn’t have needed to come to this. To betray you, to pick at you like a vulture on dead flesh. I am not proud. Not one bit. But now I know. I know the real you. Only downside: we could never talk about it. 

There’s no comfort. Just an acknowledgement.

In life, we were only ever strangers. 

If it hadn’t taken you, we never would’ve lasted.