Chapter 3:The Letter She Never Read
Alex stared at the blank page on his desk,the pen in his hand feeling heavier than it should.The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.He had wanted to write something—anything—to capture the love he still felt.But the words refused to come.
What would she want me to say?he wondered.Would she even recognize my handwriting anymore?
He closed his eyes,remembering the first time Emily had given him a letter.It was their third Valentine's Day,and they had been sitting in the park,sharing a thermos of hot cocoa.She had pulled a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to him with a shy smile.
"It's not much,"she'd said,"but I wanted to write down how I feel."
He had read it that night,her neat cursive looping across the page,filled with promises and dreams.At the end,she'd written:"Love is the smallest moments that feel like forever."
Now,Alex tried to channel that simplicity.He scribbled a few sentences,then crumpled the paper.Too sappy.Too forced.He tried again,but the words felt hollow.
Why is this so hard?
He leaned back,resting his head against the chair.The room smelled faintly of lavender—Emily's favorite scent.He imagined her sitting beside him,nudging him with her elbow,teasing him about his terrible penmanship.
"Just write from the heart,"she'd say.
So he tried one last time:
"Emily,I miss you.Every day feels a little emptier without you,but I'm trying to keep our love alive.I hope this letter finds you somehow."
He signed it with a shaky"Always,Alex."
It wasn't perfect,but it felt true.
The next morning,he placed the letter in a small wooden box he'd found in the attic—a box Emily had given him years ago.He carried it to the park,where the snow had melted to reveal patches of grass.At their bench,he hesitated,then tucked the box under a loose board in the seat.
"This was always our spot,"he murmured."I hope you find it here."
As he walked away,the sun broke through the clouds,casting a golden light on the pond.Alex felt a flicker of hope—not for himself,but for the memory they'd shared.The letter was a small gesture,but it felt like a bridge between then and now.
Maybe love doesn't fade,he thought.Maybe it just changes shape.
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