George stood up and walked into our bedroom. What happened next—read it in the comments ‼️👇‼️👇
When he returned, he was carrying a small, old wooden box. I had never seen it before. He placed it on the table.
“This was given to me three days before our wedding.”
Inside was an old envelope.
Yellowed with age.
My name was written on the front.
Mary.
My hands began to tremble.
“Who wrote it?”
George took a deep breath.
“Your father.”
I froze.
My father had died only a few months before our wedding. He had always cared deeply about George, but I had never imagined that the two of them had had a private conversation about me.
“What does it say?”
George handed me the letter.
But when I tried to open it, he gently stopped me.
“Listen to me first.”
He sat down beside me.
“When your father became ill, one day he asked me to come see him. He already knew he didn’t have much time left. He told me that you always seemed strong, but that you had a habit of keeping everything inside. He was afraid that after his death, you would be left alone and convince everyone that you were fine.”
