Years passed.
Our marriage wasn’t perfect.
We argued about dishes.
Bills.
Whose turn it was to buy groceries.
Luke snored when he slept on his back.
I left coffee cups in places where coffee cups had absolutely no business being.
It was ordinary.
Real.
Happy.
Even Diane eventually became quieter.
Not because she suddenly adored me.
Luke simply made it clear that disrespecting me meant seeing less of both of us.
Eventually, I stopped wondering why he had chosen me.
Or at least, I thought I had.
Until one afternoon.
I was cleaning out an old box filled with wedding cards and photographs when I found an envelope buried underneath everything.
My name was written across the front.
In Luke’s handwriting.
I smiled.
Then I noticed the date.
The night before our wedding.
I sat down on the floor.
For a moment, I assumed it was some romantic letter he’d written before our wedding day.
Something sentimental.
Something I’d somehow forgotten.
I opened it.
The first sentence made my smile disappear.
“If you’re reading this, then I didn’t have the courage to tell you before we got married.”
I stopped breathing.
I read the next line.
“There’s something about the day we met that I’ve kept from you, and you deserved to know before you became my wife.”
The day we met?
My hands started shaking.
Then I reached the sentence that changed everything.
“It wasn’t an accident that I spoke to you in that bakery.”
And suddenly, every insecurity I’d buried for years came rushing back.
