“It’s strange,” she said softly, “how something so small can leave such a big hole.”
I squeezed her hand. “He loved you more than anything.”
“I know,” she said. “I just wish I could tell him one more time that I loved him too.”
The following Saturday, there was a knock at the door.
Neither of us expected visitors. When I opened it, a man stood on the porch holding a fresh bouquet and a sealed envelope.
“I’m here on behalf of Thomas,” he said gently. “He asked me to deliver this to his wife… after.”
My hands shook as I took them.
Inside, Grandma looked up. “Grace? Who is it?”
“These are for you,” I said, barely finding my voice.
Her face drained of color. “From where?”
I handed her the envelope. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
She read aloud, her voice breaking.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, my love. There’s something I kept from you for many years—not because of distance, but because of hope. Please go to this address. You deserve to see it.
At the bottom was an address.
Fear crept into her eyes. “What if… what if there was someone else?” she whispered.
“No,” I said quickly. “Grandpa would never.”
“But why hide something for so long?” she asked, panic rising.
We decided to go together.
The drive was silent, heavy with unspoken worry. Halfway there, Grandma asked me to turn back.
“What if it ruins everything?” she whispered. “What if those Saturdays weren’t about flowers at all?”
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