I unfolded the note, hands slightly trembling. Jake’s handwriting was the same—sharp, a little rushed, like he had a million thoughts racing ahead of his pen. If you’re reading this, it means I chickened out. Or maybe I just ran out of time. Either way, I’m sorry. I never should have let something as stupid as Laura come between us. That’s on me. But that’s not why I wanted to meet. I found out a while back that I lost the bet.

My breath caught. I gripped the note tighter. I have cancer, Paul. The bad kind. The kind where doctors just talk about “making you comfortable.” I thought I had more time, but life’s funny like that, huh? I wanted to see you one last time, to laugh about our dumb bet, to tell you I never stopped thinking of you as my brother. But I was afraid. Afraid you’d be mad. Afraid you’d look at me with pity. Afraid I’d break down in front of you. So I left this instead.

I know you, Paul. You’ll sit here, finish that beer, and wonder why I didn’t just face you. The truth is, I wanted to remember us as we were—two kids who thought they had all the time in the world. Take care of Laura. Take care of your daughter. And don’t waste time holding grudges over things that don’t matter.

You won the bet, Paul. Now do something good with the time you have left. – Jake I read it three times before setting it down. My chest felt heavy, my throat tight. I glanced at the pint glass in front of me, the beer untouched. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to drink it or smash it against the wall. Jake was gone. And I never got to say goodbye. I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I found myself driving aimlessly, Jake’s words echoing in my head. At some point, I pulled over at the park where we used to race each other as kids. I sat on one of the swings, gripping the chains, staring at the empty basketball court where we’d spent entire summers.

I thought about all the time we wasted. All the years we could have had if we had just been a little less stubborn, a little more willing to let go of the past. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Laura’s name. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey,” she said, a smile in her voice. “How’d it go?” swallowed hard. “Jake’s gone.” A pause. “Gone?” I explained, reading her the note through shaky breaths. When I finished, she was silent for a long time. “Come home,” she finally whispered.

That night, as I tucked my daughter into bed, she blinked up at me sleepily. “Daddy, why are you sad?” I hesitated, then brushed a curl from her forehead. “I lost a friend today.” She thought about that for a moment. “Like forever?” I nodded.