Disclaimer:I don't own Tuck Everlasting. If I did, well I would be rich. And since I'm not...

This is just because I think we need to know what went through Jesse's head/mind/thoughts/what-ever-you-want-to-call-it when he saw the grave. DUN DUN DUN! And my friend agrees it's a good idea. Thanks creativlybored!

This short one-shot Drabble thing is dedicated to my awesome English Teacher who showed the class the movie. Thanks Spier!

It's been so long. Surly no one will remember the strange family that used to live in the woods? No one, that is, except for my darling Winnie.

As I promised, I came back. Of coarse Winnie might have expected me sooner, but I will finally take her to the Eiffel Tower. And maker her climb all One thousand six hundred and fifty-two steps. No way will I let her take the cheep way out: the elevators. I wonder how many of those she's rode in now. Or more important: Did she wake up with the dawn every day?

I wonder what day she drank the water? Was it right after I left? The next morning? Or did she wait a week? Maybe she waited a year or two, so we'd look the same age. One thing for sure, I'm gonna marry her. No matter how many years it's been, I still love her as deeply as the depths of the sea. And will always love her. I will love that Winnie Foster until the day I die!

I pulled my motorcycle off the main road and onto the path that served as a driveway to the Foster's home. The house was different. Well I guess I could assume that. It has been years.

I parked the bike and strode up to the front door. A thought occurred to me ass I rang the door bell. What if she didn't live here anymore? What if she changed her name? What if the people who lived here now didn't know who I was talking about? How would I explain it so it didn't seem too old for my body?

I smirked. Too old for my body? You could say that.

The door opened revealing a blond woman of about twenty-five. "Hello?" she asked cautiously.

I gave her a winning smile and asked, "Hi, I'm Jesse. I'm looking for a Winifred Foster? Is she here?"

The girl gave me a look like I was crazy. "No." Was her short answer, almost a snort.

"Well would you know where I could find her? Please, it's important!" I so did not beg. Well, if it's for Winnie, then yes, I begged the woman to tell me where she was.

The woman sighed and gestured to the forest. "She's in there."

"Thank you." I don't know why she didn't say that in the first place!

"Oh,ah, wait." I turned back and gave the woman an expectant look. I hope it didn't look too annoyed.

"They say the woods are haunted. So be careful. And don't drink the water. Legend says it's poisoned. A slow, painful poison. That is, if you find the water. But who knows," she shrugged her shoulders, "it would just be myth. It's your funeral if it is."

I smirked. 'The water's poisoned,' eh? Nice one Winnie. I gave the woman a wink and turned around to enter the woods.

The first place to look would be the spring. Even if Winnie's not there, I miss the heavenly taste of it. So I started in that direction. But I stopped dead upon catching sight of the old, large tree.

There, at the base where the spring should be, rested a headstone.

Oh no,no,no,no! This had to be a joke! I told myself to calm down, that it couldn't be her grave, just a fraud, to keep people from drinking the water on accident!

But as I neared the slab of granite, passing through the array of wild flowers, I saw it. Winifred Foster.

I sank to my knees. There it was, in plain sight. The rock marking where my dear Winnie lay. Dead. On the spring.

Tears stung at the back of my eyes. She was supposed to stay with me forever! To travel the world with me! To take off her shoes and climb every single, solitary step with me! NO! Why didn't she drink the water?

Just as the tears spilled from my eyes a frog croaked.

I let the tears fall until I had run out. How long had I knelled here? How long had memories of our time spent together flashed through my mind? We Tucks never do know do we?

I whipped my eyes, attempting to clear the burned and blurry vision. No words could punctuate my sorrow.

But as I went to stand, I took in the rest of the headstone.

In Loving Memory

Winifred Foster Jackson

Dear Wife - Dear Mother

1899-1999

Jackson? Wife? Mother?

She lived to be a hundred. When she died, I was a hundred and eighty nine. When she died, she loved her husband and she died, I still loved her.

A swelling anger built up alongside my grief. Not only did she leave me, she married another man. Fell in love, a deeper love than she had for me it seems. Love enough to grow old. To bear his children, to die. How long did it take her to know she loved this Jackson? Did she know the second she saw him he was special? As I knew for her? Did she fall head-over-heals for him that very same day? As I did for her? Did she ever have to leave him? As I did her?

I think I finally understand the hatred Miles has for the world. That clenching in the heart that can never be unleashed. The pain of betrayal. The brokenness inside. Miles and I share something in common now, don't we? We both lost the women we love because they wouldn't drink the God-damned water! They both left us, after promising to stay with us forever. He still wore his wedding ring. I had nothing.

I can't believe it, she left me. She left me to live a broken nothingness of a life! If you could've call it living, it's not living without her. And she left me.

She left me.