The Letter

He set the envelope on the table between them. She ran her fingers over the return address in the upper left-hand corner. They exchanged a glance; they both recognized the address immediately.

She pushed the envelope towards him, her wedding ring glistening in the dim light of their dining room chandelier. Her fingertips lingered on the edge of the envelope for a moment, then she ripped them away, her lips pursed.

He picked up the envelope, turning it around in his trembling left hand. His wedding ring, which matched hers, subtly knocked against the paper. He lifted his right hand, as though to open the envelope, until his eyes met hers again. Tears threatened to trickle down their cheeks. She shook her head, and he set the envelope back down on the table.

With a shuddering sigh, she stood up and walked into the kitchen to get them some coffee. He stared after her, one hand on the envelope, the other drumming away on the tabletop. The clacking of the mugs and the coffee pot was deafening. The feel of the paper beneath his calloused fingers was sharper than any metal he had ever worked with.

His chest hurt as he looked from the envelope to her. As she approached carrying the piping hot mugs, he opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again. He gingerly accepted his mug from her, his fingers brushing lightly across hers. She smiled at him, but it wavered.

No other sound but them sipping their coffee filled the room. Even their breathing was too quiet to register in their ears. It was a painful quiet, yet oddly comfortable. It had become their norm as of late, even before the arrival of the envelope.

Her eyes fixed on him as his stayed on the envelope. He lifted it again and raised it to the light, as though trying to see its contents that way. She cleared her throat. He lowered the envelope but did not set it down.

She sipped at her coffee, but her eyes never left him. Daring him.

He let out a long breath and set the envelope back down. He consumed his coffee in a handful of gulps, ignoring the scorching of his mouth and throat. With a heave, he pushed himself out of his chair and trudged into the kitchen to rinse out his mug.

She watched him over her shoulder. Turning back to the envelope, she blinked away her tears. She ran her fingers over the return address again, cherishing the sloppily handwritten letters and numbers. Her heart ached, and the tears flowed freely.

He moved beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes shining like a melancholy lake. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

After they pulled away, she grabbed the envelope and lifted it toward him. He took one edge and looked at her, his brow arched. She nodded.

He liberated the envelope from her grasp and tore it open. With reverence, he unfolded the single page of the letter and laid it down on the table in front of them.

The letter read:

To Mom and Dad,

I’m sorry. I love you with all my heart. I’ll be all right.

Love Always,

Eric

Tears dripped from their faces onto the letter. He squeezed her shoulder, and she put her hand over his. She grabbed the letter and held it up to him. He nodded.

He helped her out of her seat, and they headed into the living room. There, on the entertainment center, sat a black reflective urn. They placed the letter by the urn and stood, holding each other, staring at their reflection.

Through the sadness, they smiled.