She vanished, leaving behind only a note: “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.”
Vera had always possessed the remarkable ability to bring light into even the most gloomy of hearts. Her laughter was infectious, as if spring itself had burst into the room. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she threw her head back in genuine mirth. Women were drawn to her like a moth to a flame, seeking advice or simply craving the warmth of her presence.
Yet, the centre of her universe was her family. Her husband, Alex, and their ten-year-old son, Michael, were the reason she rose with the dawn, baking cinnamon pies, arranging family outings in the countryside, and hosting friendly tea gatherings with the neighbours. It seemed as though happiness had taken up permanent residence in their home.
But something within her shattered. It began subtly. Her laughter became less frequent, and a shadow of weariness settled in her eyes. Vera increasingly withdrew, staring out of the window with a distant expression. Her jokes faded, and her once-generous spirit morphed into quiet solitude. Whispers circulated among the neighbours; they claimed she must have fallen in love with someone else. How else could one explain her sudden aloofness?
Then one day, Vera simply vanished. No theatrical exit, no explanations, no goodbyes. While Alex was at work and Michael was attending school, she gathered a few belongings and left a brief note on the kitchen table: “I’m sorry. I’m leaving for someone else. Forget me. Forgive our son.”
It hit Alex like a thunderbolt. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He read those words over and over, struggling to comprehend how the woman who had been the source of his joy could leave so callously. Despair enveloped him. He withdrew from all around him, his existence reduced to living solely for his son. Michael, confused and heartbroken, silently awaited his mother’s return, weeping quietly each night as he drifted off to sleep.
Nearly six months passed. One day, there was a knock at the door. A courier stood outside, wordlessly handing Alex an envelope before swiftly departing. The name on it was familiar. It was a final confession, penned in Vera’s handwriting.
Alex sank down onto the floor, tore open the envelope, and began to read:
“My beloveds, my heart. If you are holding this letter, it means I am no longer here. Forgive me, my dear, for the lies. I did not leave for another. I would never abandon you unless I had no choice — I was gravely ill. I found out too late, when the sickness had already taken root. It is the same fate that befell my father. He faded before our eyes, and I couldn’t bear for you to witness my own fading light. I wanted to remain for you, vibrant and happy — the way you remember me.
I went to a small town nearby, rented a room in a low-cost hostel, and prepared for my exit. I was terrified, in pain, and utterly alone, but I knew it was for the best. Please, take my body and bury me by the lake where we once strolled with Michael. Hug him for me. Tell him that his mother loved him deeply. Always. And tell my mother that she was in my thoughts until my final breath.
Now you are the head of the family. You are strong. I know you will cope. Do not let sorrow defeat you. Live. For our son. For yourself. For us.
Forever yours, Vera.”
Alex clutched the letter tightly, tears falling onto the pages and blurring the ink. He cried not from anger or pain but from the understanding that Vera had never betrayed him. She had loved him, until the very end.
Through this experience, I learned that true love sometimes leads to heart-wrenching decisions, and that the bonds we share can transcend even the darkest moments.