Then, nearly a year after I returned, he passed away suddenly. Complications from his injuries.
One moment he was breathing beside me, and the next, the world felt like it had dropped into silence.
At the funeral, surrounded by people who barely knew him anymore, a woman approached me. 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.
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