The Letter

The apartment was too quiet. The silence lingered in the corners, settling in the spaces where Daniel's laughter used to echo. Lily stood in the doorway of their bedroom, her eyes drawn to the dresser where his belongings were still scattered—his favorite cologne, a pair of cufflinks he never wore, a photograph of the two of them from a trip they had taken to Paris. She hadn't moved any of it, not yet. She couldn't. It all felt like he might just walk through the door any second, telling her he was sorry for being late, that he hadn't meant to hurt her.

But he wasn't coming back.

The thought struck her every day, but today it felt particularly sharp. It had been three months since Daniel died, and yet, every morning she woke up expecting to hear him. His absence had turned into a physical ache, one she couldn't explain to anyone, not even Claire. Her best friend, who had tried to pull her out of the fog, always asking if she was okay, if she needed anything. But no one could understand this feeling—the feeling of waking up in a life that no longer made sense, a life she couldn't move forward from.

Lily reached for the box on the edge of the dresser—an old shoebox filled with letters. Daniel's letters. She hadn't opened it since his funeral. She remembered the way his hand would move across the paper, his voice coming alive through his words. He had written her countless letters over the years, letters she cherished, letters she had kept in this box, tucked away, hidden from the world.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid, sifting through the crumpled paper and yellowing envelopes. And then, she found it. The one she hadn't seen before.

It was tucked between two pages of one of Daniel's journals, a letter in his familiar handwriting. Her heart skipped. She didn't recognize the envelope, and it hadn't been among the letters she had read after his death. She stared at it, her chest tightening.

The Last Love Letter.

Her breath caught in her throat as she carefully peeled back the seal. As she read the first few lines, something in her broke. Daniel's words were scrawled hastily, as though he had been interrupted.

Lily,

I'm not sure how to say this, but I need you to know that—

The handwriting began to fade, the ink smudged in places as if he had been unable to finish. Her fingers shook, and she reread the words. The letter didn't make sense. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest as the silence in the room seemed to close in around her.

What was he trying to tell her? Why had he left her with so many questions?

A soft knock at the door broke the moment.

"Lily?" The voice was soft, gentle. It was Aaron. He was always there now, checking on her, making sure she wasn't too lost in her grief. Aaron, Daniel's childhood friend, the one who had never left her side after the funeral. At first, she had pushed him away. She wasn't ready for company. But somehow, through the weeks, he had become an anchor—one she resented yet couldn't ignore.

She wiped her tears quickly, though they had already stained her cheeks. She didn't want Aaron to see her like this, but she knew he would. He always did.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice a little too tight.

The door creaked open slowly, and Aaron stood there, his eyes soft with concern. He didn't press her. He never did. Instead, he stepped forward and stood by her side, his gaze landing on the letter in her hand.

"I didn't mean to intrude," he said, his voice low. "But you've been up here a while."

Lily didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to explain what she was feeling. The letter seemed so important, but it also terrified her. What if it changed everything she had believed about their life together?

"I found something," she finally whispered, her voice cracking. She handed him the letter, not trusting herself to speak more.

Aaron took it, his fingers brushing against hers as he read through the letter. He didn't say anything, just stared at it for a long time. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable.

"Do you want me to read the rest of it?" he asked quietly.

Lily shook her head. "No, it's fine." She didn't want Aaron to know what she had seen, what she was reading between the lines. That there was more to Daniel than she had ever known. She had no idea what to do with this revelation.

Aaron hesitated before placing the letter back in her hands. "Lily, you don't have to do this alone."

"I know," she whispered, feeling the truth of his words. But even as she spoke, she knew it was a lie. She had to do it alone. There were parts of Daniel she would never understand, and maybe that was okay. But this letter… it was like a key to something she didn't want to unlock.

The grief was heavy, but the mystery was heavier.

Aaron lingered by the door, watching her as she tucked the letter away in the box again, hiding it beneath the other letters.

"I'll be downstairs," he said gently, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. "You don't have to read it all now. But when you're ready…"

Lily nodded, too numb to speak. She was nowhere near ready.

As he closed the door behind him, she turned back to the dresser, her gaze lingering on the box.

The letter was a doorway. A doorway to answers she wasn't sure she wanted.

But she would have to find them.

For herself.