How I Met Your Mother Last Forever: Part 2 Novels & Stories

I doubt death changed his methods much. I read it a fourth time anyway, at my desk, with the city going dark orange outside my window and my father's old shipping charts still bolted to the wall behind me because I've never gotten around to taking them down. Thirty days. One marriage. One year, uninterrupted, or the whole empire slides sideways into the cousin's lap. It's the kind of clause a sentimental old man writes when he's dying and wants a story out of his granddaughter's life instead of a balance sheet. It's also, if I'm being honest with myself, the kind of gift I have not been handed in a very long time.

Mom always says that depression is nothing more than an illness born of idleness. People who are truly busy studying don't have time to be depressed. So, during my senior year of high school, I lie awake through countless nights, my hair falling out in clumps as I tremble over endless mock papers. Mom only slides another mock exam booklet in front of me. "Finish this booklet, and you won't have time to wallow in self-pity." At family gatherings, my relatives notice that I keep my head down and barely speak. They ask Mom, "Why has she gotten so quiet?" Mom's face darkens at once. "It's because she's guilty about something, duh. Go on. Tell everyone what you've done wrong this time." Late

Why did I only understand how I felt after I'd already lost her forever? *** Epilogue II Third-Person POV After Yara died, Shawn went after Johan's company. When two heavyweights went to war, everybody took a hit. Their friends set up a dinner to force a truce. Johan and Shawn showed up as a favor, but both looked ready to tear into each other. Johan was a wreck. Shawn had lost so much weight that his eyes looked huge in his gaunt face. "Don't think I'll ever forgive you." "Give me Blackie, and I'll help you finish this," Johan said.

My role was to play Nathan Hartwell's disposable ex-wife—a character everyone despised. My mission: to stir up conflict, push the male and female leads together, and die before them exactly ten years into the marriage. At first, I'd come with that mission in mind—but somehow, I'd lost my memories and fallen hopelessly, genuinely in love with Nathan. Now, two sets of memories clashed inside me. I couldn't tell if I was Pearl or Elena Gray. Just then, my mother's voice reached me across time and space. "Baby, Mommy is waiting for you to come home."

She'd been there through every heartbreak, every bad decision, every late-night crisis. "He recognized me," I said finally. "From years ago. From a hospital. We met when we were teenagers." There was a pause so long I checked to see if the call had dropped. "I'm sorry," Maya said slowly, "you're telling me that your billionaire husband, whom you married on a blind date, turns out to be a long-lost childhood connection? That's not a plot twist, Elena. That's a whole new genre." "I know," I said, laughing despite myself. "It's insane. I'm aware."

Looking at her, my mind slips backward, drifting to a completely different room, years ago. “The best part of my life is you,” my mother had said to me on what ended up being the last day I ever saw her alive. We were sitting in our old kitchen, her wheelchair parked right next to the dinner table. By that point, it was incredibly difficult for her to speak. The words came out thick, like her tongue was heavy, like she was intoxicated—which might not have been too far from the truth, considering the massive doses of painkillers she was taking to get through the days. I had taken her hands and kissed them, my chest aching. “The best part of my life is you.”

Matthew cheered and grabbed the money before he ran off. No one mentioned me at all. It was as if I never existed. My mother patted her pocket and frowned. “I feel like I have forgotten something…” At the same time, my grandmother walked out of the kitchen holding a dish. She placed it on the dining table. “Oh right, where’s Myra? “Darren should’ve already picked her up by now. Both of you are too careless. How can you forget your child at a rest stop?” It was then that my mother slapped her forehead as she finally remembered me.

*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** The last time I saw my mother, she was aiming a loaded gun at me. It had been one of those nights you don’t forget, no matter how much time passes or how many good days stack themselves on top of it. Now, I’m seeing her again. She’s lying still on a bed, palms resting one over the other on her stomach. Her eyes are on the ceiling. Her face is drained, like she’s been crying for hours and somehow still has more tears left to shed.

At that last line, I finally laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce. You can go back to your precious little heiress.”

MIA Two weeks. Two weeks since I got the call, two weeks since I last heard his voice – Aaron’s voice. And now, two weeks later, I stand here, numb, watching the pastor in a black suit drone on about life, death, and eternal peace. My mother. She’s gone. Forever.