The day I laid Emily to rest, all I had left to hold onto were our cherished memories and photographs. But little did I know, one particular photo held a secret that would shake me to my core. As I gazed at our engagement picture, something slipped from behind the frame, leaving me pale and trembling.
The funeral had been a blur, but the black ribbon tied to our front door was a harsh reminder of the reality I faced. As I stepped inside, the house felt foreign, filled with the scent of leather polish and casseroles brought by sympathetic neighbors. Emily’s sister, Jane, had cleaned the house while I was at the hospital, but her efforts only made the silence feel more oppressive.
I loosened my tie, a gift from Emily, and kicked off my shoes, feeling a pang of guilt for the scuff marks they left on the wall. Emily would have scolded me for that, her lips pursed in mock disapproval. I muttered an apology, feeling the weight of her absence.
As I stood there, lost in thought, my eyes wandered back to the photo. That’s when I saw it – a small piece of paper that had slipped from behind the frame. My heart racing, I picked it up, and what I found made me question everything I thought I knew about my wife.
