My uncle raised me after my parents died, but his last letter revealed the heartbreaking truth he had hidden from me for 22 years

The years pass, the body tires

Growing up, I realized that there would be no quick miracle. Julien turned my room into a space of freedom. Everything was thought so that I could do it alone. On the day of my twenty-one years, he gave me a gardener at the window. A detail, but loaded with meaning: continue to grow something. Then one day, he started to slow down.
Out of breath. Distracted. Less solid. The diagnosis fell straight. The end settled in the living room, gradually, surrounded by care, discreet machines, heavy silences. The day before he left, he told me I had to live. That I was stronger than I thought. And he apologized.
Without explaining.