You got her body. I got her love. Alastair got her spirit. And God got her soul.
You distracted her for a year. I had her for 15. God gets her for eternity. Hell, even Alastair had her longer than you.
You got our tears, but you couldn't even fill a fucking pond with the collective tears of the hundreds who wept for her. I could fill an ocean with my love.
You got death, where I got life. I have a beautiful son whom you can't touch (don't test me).
And what do you have to show for it? Nothing. I have the memories and the joy, and Alastair looks just like her.
Amanda taught me how to reason critically, how to love, and how to be a good husband and father. She taught you that you were a chump to be laughed at and made light of. She taught you that you couldn't stop her.
If ever I worked so hard to gain so little, I'd be humiliated. So yeah: joke's on you, leukemia. Punk.
And the best part? She's not even sick any more. Man, you suck. If I were you, I'd probably go jump off a cliff or something.
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