She left behind a journal and in it were her words. Her thoughts. It usually laid neatly in Johnny's nightstand drawer but tonight he held it clutched to his chest.
His long fingers traced the book's spine with such tenderness as though caressing a baby. He had gifted the journal to Nicky on her birthday, long before they both became victims of their tragic marriage. She always had the memory capacity of a goldfish when it came to recalling the schedules she booked and Johnny didn't have a problem saying it to her. Then they would laugh about it afterward. He bought it for her so she could write down the important yet likely forgettable plans she made and for the first few pages it was clear that it was exactly what she did but then pages later, it was… different.
