When William left for the army, Emily promised she would wait for him faithfully. And she kept her wordshe wrote him heartfelt letters, pouring out her love and devotion, decorating the pages with painted roses and little hearts, and kissing the end of every note so her lipstick would leave a print next to the word kiss. She truly adored himwith the kind of boundless affection one gives only onceand in his absence, the minutes felt like hours.
Thats why, to this very day, I still struggle to comprehend how William could have done this to me.
My heart insisted it couldnt be true, that he would never forget about me. Yet when he suddenly stopped replying to my letters, then eventually wrote a short note urging me to forget him, I was forced to accept the reality.
I married the first man who came along after that. Not out of love, of course. I locked away my battered heart and my hopes, forever, determined never to let myself be hurt again. No one could come close to how Id once loved William.
One rainy afternoon, I was in the kitchen, apron on, slippers shuffling across the linoleum, when the doorbell rang. There on my porch stood William, now a grown man in his officers uniform.
I couldnt believe youd really married, so I had to see it for myself. But its true, he said, his voice thick with pain, on the brink of tears. Now I finally understand why you stopped replying to my letters
He turned, ready to depart, but I reached out to stop him.
How can you say that? I demanded. You were the one who wrote and told me to forget you I couldnt tell if he was trying to explain or to blame me.
And so? He paused for a long moment, searching my face. Yes, its true I sent my last letter from service last week, hoping you still cared
I felt a lump catch in my throatspeechless, burning tears started streaming down my cheeks as my mind raced senselessly: How, why?
That very day, I went to see my parents. Surely, they must know more about all this. They never liked Williamhe didnt have two shillings to rub together.
Were sorry, love, Mum and Dad admitted at last, unable to hide their emotions. We just wanted you to have a better life than we did. We remember scrimping and saving just to buy sweets for you as a child. We only wanted more for you
But you were poor yourselves, and still you fell in love and got married! Why try to ruin my happiness? How could you do that to me? I cried, resentment flaring.
Here you are, Mum said quietly, handing me a small bundle of letters.
I retreated to the sitting room and, as I read through them, I wept uncontrollablynot just tears, but deep sobs. In Williams final letter, the one hed spoken of, there was a pressed snowdrop, dry and delicate, and beside it hed written: I searched for this for days, but found it just for you.
That evening, I had an honest conversation with my husbanda man whose world consisted almost entirely of his job, his mates, his money and, as the neighbours had whispered more than once, perhaps even other women. We parted quietly. No angry words, just the calm of resignation.
For the first time in my life, I braved the city at nightmy lifelong fear of the dark suddenly meaningless. I was walking home. Not the house I lived in, but to the one where the man who truly loved me waitedand whom I had never, not for a moment, stopped loving.
Eventually, all sorrow and regret faded into memory. William and I built a home filled with laughter and warmth, two fair-haired sons growing up between us. My parents, now doting grandparents, found their happiness in the childrens smiles. All of us came to realise that the greatest fortune is a house ruled by honest, steadfast love.
