Her face stopped me cold. She was the woman he’d left me for. She stood there holding a small envelope, her hands trembling.
“He told me to give you this if anything ever happened to him,” she said. I took it, my stomach twisting. Inside was a letter.
His handwriting. His uneven loops. His rushed curves.
The same style he used on our old grocery lists and love notes. My throat tightened as I read:
“I thought I was chasing success. I didn’t realize I was running from love.
You were my peace, and I traded you for noise.”
My knees nearly buckled. The woman swallowed hard. “I found the letter months ago,” she whispered.
“I didn’t know how to face you. After the accident… he talked about you every day. He said you were the only person who ever truly stayed.”
Something inside me cracked.
Not with anger—but with a grief I didn’t know where to place. I didn’t know whether to feel honored or haunted. Loved or abandoned all over again.
All I could think was this:
Love doesn’t always end when the relationship does. Sometimes it lingers—quiet, unfinished, waiting for the truth to catch up. And maybe that’s the most heartbreaking part of all… that even when love breaks, some pieces keep living inside us, long after the story should have been over.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental.
The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
