We’d been inseparable since toddlers, two stubborn kids sharing the same toy truck at daycare. Growing up just a few doors apart, we were brothers in every way but blood. Our bond was defined by bets—who could run faster, hold their breath longer, or score higher on a test. The wins didn’t matter; it was the challenge, the drive to be better.

One night, when we were sixteen, things changed. Stretched out on my roof, Jake proposed the ultimate bet: “Who lives longer?” I laughed it off, but he insisted. “Whoever goes first owes the other a beer.” We both believed I would win, until Laura came into the picture.

I didn’t want to compete for her, but Jake did. That moment fractured our friendship. He spread rumors that I’d betrayed him, and by graduation, he was gone—leaving without a word.

Years later, I received a letter from Jake. He’d been battling cancer and never wanted me to see him that way. In his final words, he admitted I had won the bet. He was gone, but I finally said goodbye, forgiving him long before his death.