I set two cups of tea out of habit every morning.
I finally got up and made myself tea. Sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty chair across from me. His chair.
I watched the clock tick. Listened to the house creak. Felt the weight of Robert’s absence pressing down on me.
Then came a sharp knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
When I opened it, no one was there. Just a bouquet of roses lying on the doormat. And an envelope. My hands shook as I picked them up.
The roses were fresh and beautiful, wrapped in brown paper tied with twine. Just like the ones Robert gave me in 1962.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
I brought them inside and set them on the table.
How was this possible?
Then I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter in Robert’s handwriting. And a key.
I sat down and started reading it:
“My love, if you’re reading this, it means I am no longer by your side.”
I had to stop to take a breath.
“In this envelope is the key to an apartment. There is something I have hidden from you our entire life. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do otherwise. You must go to this address.”
“There is something I have hidden from you our entire life.”
