He left her shortly before Christmas. He promised to return for her if he took an assignment in another country. He told her that she would go with him.
He never came back. He never wrote to her. He never called her. He vanished from her life.
She kept his things for quite a while. She cried herself to sleep each night wondering what had gone wrong. She needed to know how he could leave without telling her that he was going alone.
She didn’t like secrets. She didn’t like looking at his clothes in her closet. She didn’t like having her heart broken by someone she loved.
Her friends were there to help her. Her friends fed her each day. Her friends didn’t let a day go by without someone spending time with her. Her friends feared for her sanity, but not as much as she feared for it herself.
The day came. The day her strength returned. The day she had waited for months to arrive, and there it was … the letter that never came.
There it was in her mailbox, and there is stayed until she did what she needed to do.
Before she read the letter, she tossed out every trace of his existence.
Before she read the letter, she made certain his scent was removed from her closet and from her memory.
Before she read the letter, she made certain she knew her truth.
Then, and only then, did she read the letter …
… the letter that never came until it was too late.
© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.