Monday morning. The beginning of October. It was an odd start to the morning. No alarm went off. I didn't have to get up and shower at five before getting coffee and heading into the office.

I laid in bed and watched the sun replace the light pollution.

And I smiled of course because I thought about Amalia and the night that we'd spent together in the living room.

We'd laid under our own version of the stars - someday it would be the real thing - we talked, we filled up on sugar and had no regrets.

Baseball, the entire point in the date, was forgotten but we were too enraptured with each other to notice.

She's so beautiful. Laying beside her and watching her talk, the curve of her Cupid's bow and the fullness of her lips. Mesmerising.

And even in the morning when her hair was disheveled and her mascara smushed beneath her eyes, she was still beautiful.

I'd called Mom and Dad last night and explained I'd quit my job. They weren't hesitant to help me out but did mention they weren't going to support me sitting in an apartment for months on end.

Their words made it sound like they'd been talking to Abby. But I assured them I wouldn't waste away and I would work, travel or both.

Dad had been quite positive about one option I wasn't even allowed to consider.

"You're not moving home. I'd rather fork out for you to live in New York."

It hadn't occurred to me to move back in. But I promised him I would make no such suggestion.

New York was where I wanted to live. Just as Lucas had predicted would happen, I fell in love with the city.

I needed to explore more of it. But this was home now and it was where I was going to remain.

I decided to get up and shower before it got too late into the morning.

My reflection stared back at me as the water ran over my body. I'd been working out a bit more recently. I was starting to gain back some of the definition I'd lost when I fell into a slump after Kyla passed.

After I was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, boots and a long sleeve shirt, I pulled on a coat beside the door and flicked the collar up.

My keys jangled from the pocket while I shut the apartment door and checked my phone.

There was a Snapchat from Amalia and I opened it, feeling warm at the thought of seeing her smile.

It was a photo of her in a full length mirror. It looked like a tattoo studio. There was art all over the walls behind her, a stretcher bed and chair.

She looked perfect in a pair of overalls with a long sleeve turtle neck underneath. The message read,

'Dad is at the Philadelphia gallery today if you still want to go and talk to him. The New York gallery is closed because he can't staff both 😅 not a great start to a second location. Anyway. I'm in the parlour all day. Catch up later? xox.'

I stood in the elevator and took a photo of my boots with the caption. 'I'll go and see him. Have a good day. You look really beautiful xx'

The weather wasn't terrible. It wasn't warm either. The colours on the trees were changing and the wind blew the leaves on the ground around.

It would warm up in the afternoon but for now I was comfortable in a coat. I took the train from Grand Central to Philadelphia and got off on 30th.

I considered walking to the gallery but settled on an Uber, the drive was five minutes to Rittenhouse Row where Delgado's - the original - was tucked in between boutiques and restaurants.

The footpaths were bustling. It was like an outdoor mall. Establishments were side by side. Historical buildings were given modern signage to promote their business. There were a lot of locally owned and run stores among the larger franchises.

Inside, the art gallery was much like the one in New York. Perhaps just a bit larger. But the design was the same. Industrial brick walls and steel beams with polished concrete floors.

It was busier too. More established no doubt. Elias wasn't hard to miss.

He stood beside a group of guys, about the same age as me, wearing hipster clothing and serious expressions as Elias enthusiastically described his painting.

He was wearing a bright red button up with floral pattern and black pants. His shoes were Birkenstock's.

He wasn't particularly tall but he did hold himself with a confidence that added to his five feet, seven inches. I hung back and let him finish off his explanation of the famous Burgos Cathedral.

When he turned around and found me, his smile brightened. "Max, hola," he shook my hand. "How are things, son?"

"Good thank you, Mr Delgado," I said. "How are you?"

"Call me Elias. I'm good. Life is beautiful. My daughter said she had a wonderful evening on Saturday. You make her smile."

I hadn't been expecting that. It wasn't as if I didn't know she was close with her Dad. But I was surprised he brought up our date so casually.

I rubbed the back of my neck and chuckled. "It was a good evening. Your daughter is. . . an amazing woman."

"Sí. She is. How can I help? She's in New York during the week, Max. Not here."

"Oh no I know. I'm actually here to ask if that job is still available? I know I turned it down and you might have filled it. But I um— I'd be glad to do an interview or—"

"The job is yours," he boomed.

It was loud and full of boisterous energy. I could feel half of the room watching us.

"Just like that? Don't I need a background check or an interview or—"

"No," he interrupted and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding us towards the back of the studio where a counter was placed and arranged with a computer and debit machine. "If Amalia recommended you then I need to know nothing else. She is smart and good with character. And me too. I'm not worried."

My focus seemed to linger on the fact that Amalia had obviously talked to her Dad about this and given me her support.

It made my heart speed up but I tried not to let my thoughts float into a stupor.

"So," I slipped my hands into my coat pocket. "What now? I mean, when do I start and all of that?"

"Tomorrow?" He raised a brow, rubbing his salt and pepper coloured beard. "I had to shut today because no one could help. Sometimes Amalia takes a morning off her job here and there to help. But she's busy too. So I need someone in there full time. Weekends closed of course."

"I can do that."

"You take care of repairs, deliveries, sales, hanging new work and the cleaning. It's not a hard job for one person in a small studio."

"I understand sir."

He smiles. "Good. I will have Amalia meet you there tomorrow morning to give keys and a contract. You can phone her or I for whatever questions. You will do wonderful. I know it."

The commute home was spent in a bit of a daze. It'd been almost too easy to get another job.

Sometimes I felt it wasn't right. I didn't need this job as much as others. But then again, not working was just as bad, wasn't it? Should I have declined and suggested that it was given to someone else?

No. I could earn it.

When I got home, I thought about how to spend the rest of the afternoon.

I wasn't used to so much time off. But I was surprised to find Kyla's Mom, Justine, knocking on the apartment door.

She lowered her fist to wait for an answer but startled when she saw me approaching, keys in hand.

"Hi," I said and noted how much she'd aged since I'd last seen her almost a year ago.

We talked from time to time over text but after she'd dipped out of my arrangements to see her several times, I'd sort of given up.

I felt bad for not insisting more.

"Hey, I'm sorry to show up like this," she smiled, the lines around her lips and eyes were deeper. "I have something I wanted to share with you."

"Of course," I unlocked the door and gestured for her to come in.

She swept her now dull blonde hair from her face and sighed. It was subtle. A noise of exhaustion that couldn't be helped.

She didn't drop her bag or remove her coat. But I offered her a drink as I took mine off and draped it across a stool in front of the kitchen countertop.

"No thanks," she slipped on to a stool and reached into her bag. "I can't hang around for long. I just wanted you to have this."

She pulled out a leather bound journal. It was a powder blue and the pages were thick from use.

I knew what it was. She didn't have to tell me but I stood on the other side of the breakfast bar and swallowed hard.

"This is her journal," she said, her hands rested on the top of it.

Justine was the reason her daughter was so incredible. She was kind, giving, generous and full of genuine appreciation for the world and what it had to offer.

But her smile didn't stretch all that far now. She'd lost a lot of that light and despite the fact she looked at me with friendly adoration, I could still see that she was no longer the same woman she used to be.

"I've only just started going through her things and I found it tucked between the mattress and the bed frame. She was always a journal girl. She liked to sit beside the window and write. Called it 'cinematic'. She did it most when you were in Texas."

I felt my throat become thick as I stared at the book. Her words were written in there. The thoughts of the woman I'd loved.

Would it be wrong to read it now? I wasn't sure but I knew it would hurt regardless.

"Max," Justine stared at the bench top, her voice sounded frail. "I failed a suicide attempt seven months ago."

My stomach dropped and I stepped back, running a hand through my hair. "Shit. Jus—"

"I just felt like I couldn't do it without my sweet girl," she interrupted. I was glad because I had no idea how to respond. "But I'm better now. I got some help. Hank was so angry. He thought it was so selfish to do that to him and our twelve year old son."

"You were in pain," I murmured.

Although, part of me could understand her Husband's anger. He'd lost his daughter and almost his wife as well. It'd be a lot of grief to go through.

"Mmm. But he was right. It was selfish. Anyway we're getting a divorce. It just— it took its toll and so Cameron and I are moving out. The house is going on the market. That's why I had to start packing up and came across the journal. I kept some of it but most of it was about you."

"Thank you," I leaned my palms on the lip of the bench and let out an exhale. "Where are you going? Far?"

"Cameron and I are moving to Brooklyn. It's more affordable."

"Are you in financial trouble? Do you need help?"

"Oh no honey. Your parents helped so much when Kyla was sick. No we're okay. It's going to be a good thing. To have a fresh start."

I thought about the fact that I'd been struggling to move on and start dating again. But it suddenly felt selfish.

Here was this woman who had lost her only daughter and she would never be able to move on. She couldn't ever fill that hole in her heart. She didn't even have the option.

"Anyway," she said and stood up, clutching her bag. "I should go. Cameron is waiting for me. How are you? Are you— are you seeing someone?"

She walked in front of me, heading towards the front door and I followed, wondering what I should tell her.

Would the truth hurt? To know I was moving on with my life when she couldn't. Or would she be glad to know I was respecting her daughter's wish for me to be happy.

I leaned around her and opened the door. "I have met someone," I told her the truth as she stood at the threshold and smiled, a sad smile, but it was trying very hard to be uplifting. "It's very early. She's the first since Kyla."

She smiled a bit fuller and I felt relief flow through me. "You deserve happiness. That's what she wanted. For all of us," she exhaled and pursed her lips. "Sometimes I like to imagine she's still watching out. That she's still with me. Other times I hope she can't see what a mess we've made of our family."

Two hours later, I sat on the sofa, journal in hands, stomach in my throat. I'd been sitting here debating whether to open it or not.

I tend to over think situations and this one is no exception. But I figured whatever is in the journal was something that Justine decided I should read.

So I opened it to the middle and started reading the pages.

I felt it immediately. The rush of heartache that started in my chest and ran through my veins.

Her scribbled handwriting was just as I remembered. I could feel the ghost of her fingers clutching the pages and moving the pen.

There were a lot of entries about school and whatever was going on with her friends. She wrote about her little brother and Mom and Dad.

And it didn't take long until there were entries about me. Dates we'd gone on. Messages that I'd sent her.

Little hand written notes were glued to the pages and she'd scrawled my name and love hearts all over.

Then it came time for her to move. She wrote about how hard it was and how much she'd miss me but that she knew we loved each other enough to get through it.

She wrote about our first time having sex. Both of us were inexperienced, it was the first weekend I'd gone to visit her after she'd moved.

It hurt and I was nervous but he made it so special. I've never felt so connected to someone before. I know that he's my forever.

There was more detail than that. She went over it from beginning to end and I winced, imagining her Mom reading it.

The entries went on over the years. She didn't write every single day. But she did write about the good things.

The moments she didn't want to forget. Her diagnosis was next. She wrote about the guilt that came from keeping it a secret for so long.

She debated whether to break up with me and die without dragging me through the heartache.

Who am I kidding. He wouldn't let me go without a fight.

She wrote about fear. She wrote about wanting to find faith and understanding where she would be after she died. She wrote about God and praying and begging for it to be painless. Not just for herself but for the people around her.

Her entries become fewer after that. After she wrote about the fact that I was moving in.

Max is being so supportive. It hurts to know I'm leaving him behind.

Max's parents are incredible people. They've been so generous and kind.

Max made love to me tonight. He was really gentle and he never complains about the fact that I have no hair and I've gained a lot of weight. I love him with my whole heart.

I'm not really afraid of death anymore. I'm just angry that it means hurting Mom, Dad, Cameron and of course, Max. It's like a break up, but worse because there's no chance to make up again. We've never broken up. I hope he'll be okay.

Sometimes I'm really scared that Max won't heal after I'm gone. I want him to be okay. It wouldn't be right for him to keep all of that love in his heart to himself. He's the perfect man. And he deserves to find someone once I'm gone. I just hope that whoever it is, appreciates him and values and protects his heart.

Max told me that he'll never love again and I told him not be ridiculous. There aren't enough good men on this earth. The world doesn't need to lose one more.

Tears fell, rolling down my nose which was running and sore. My lip quivered, my chest hurt like hell.

My hands shook and I could barely read the last page. Her last entry. It was dated two days before she died.

As I'm writing this, I'm crying. I haven't done that a whole lot. But I'm not sad. I'm grateful. Grateful that I got to experience a beautiful family. Grateful that I was loved by a boy who puts me above all else. We had a cinematic romance. One for the ages. The only part that I'm sad about is, not getting to see the love that he gives as he grows into a man. It'll be epic. I know it. He's going to be successful in whatever he chooses to do. He's going to live a life with passion and excitement. That brain of his will take him far. While his heart will love hard. Don't let me down Max. You're meant for more than mediocre love. You're meant for whirlwind, sweep her off her feet, show her the world and treat her as if she is the world, sort of love. I love you forever and ever.