It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

I’ve never taken care of a sick person before, so I have no medicine
at all. I think I’m about to make a pharmacy run. I might slip this letter
under your apartment door on my way there.
It isn’t fun taking care of a sick person. The sounds, the smell, the
lack of sleep—it’s actually almost as bad for the person doing the
caring. Every time I check his temperature or force him to drink water,
I think about you and how you cared for me with such a gentle parental
instinct. I’m trying to replicate that in my care for Josh, but I don’t
think I’m as good at this as you were.
You were so young, just a few years older than Josh is now. But I’m
sure you felt much older than you were. I know I did. We had been
through things no kid should have to experience. It makes me wonder if
Josh feels his age, or if he feels older than he should because of all he’s
been through.
I want him to feel young for as long as he can. I want him to enjoy
his time with me. I want him to know what love is long before I did. And
I hope that love has been seeping slowly into him so that it doesn’t hit
him all at once like it did me. I want him to grow up with it, wrapped in
it, surrounded by it. I want him to witness it.
I want to be an example for him. I want us to be an example for him,
and for Emerson. Me and you, Lily.
It’s been six months.
Move in with me.
Love,
Atlas
As soon as I finish reading the letter, I set it down and wipe my eyes. If this is
how much I cry when he asks me to move in with him, I have no idea how
I’ll survive a proposal.
Or wedding vows, for that matter.
I pick up my phone and call Atlas over video chat. It rings for ten long
seconds, and when Atlas finally answers it, he’s lying on his living room
couch. He’s smiling through his obvious exhaustion from being up all night
with Josh.
“Hey, beautiful.” His voice is barely awake.