The Last Secret, Love

As Jo was pulling into her driveway, she noticed her daughter's car. Must be out of clean clothes, she thought. Jo parked behind her, smiling to herself that her daughter's wheels were trapped. The cost to exit would be staying for dinner. She tugged at the two grocery bags in the front seat next to her, feeling the weight of the end of a busy work week, too heavy for her 50 plus-year-old bones. It was Friday night. No plans again. The sight of her daughter's clunker offered hope that the frozen entrée and the bottle of Malbec she just bought for dinner would go untouched. The two could try the new steakhouse that just opened in town.

She struggled to get inside the front door, balancing two full bags and her purse. Once inside, the house was lit with the bubbly exuberance her daughter brought everywhere.

"Hi, Mom. I stopped by to do laundry."

"Hi honey, That's fine. But you are 26 years old. Can't you find a place to live that includes a washer and dryer? And when will you "stop by" just to say hello to your old Mom?"

"I'm out of work with a Master's in English, overqualified for most jobs, 'they' tell me. And you aren't old, Mom! You're hot."

She knew her daughter was right. It was 2030, and it was hard enough to buy a house with two sturdy incomes, much less one average one.

"Well, if you don't have plans let's try that new steakhouse in town."

"I'm a vegetarian again. Oh! I signed for a package that came while you were gone, 'signature required.' Now, aren't you glad your poor overeducated daughter came by to use you for your home appliances?"

Jo abandoned the groceries she had started to put away and picked up the large 8 by 10'' envelope from the counter where her daughter left it. Who would send her registered mail?

Her divorce taught her that nothing good came in the mail that required a signature. She looked at the return address: Connecticut. From a law firm, Kennedy Doyle LLC. She knew only one person who lived in Connecticut, and she hadn't talked to Henry in 15 years, the last time they saw each other. That one night. Jo thought that night thousands of times, as recent as yesterday.

She left the kitchen, ran upstairs and into her bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the tub.

And stared at the package.

Jo and Henry grew up together, just kids when they met. They went through all the regular teenage milestones: first love, intense teenage sex. They lied to their respective parents to steal as many nights as possible sleeping in the same bed. Vacationed together with their respective families and when they could get away with it, without them. Graduated high school together, traveled all through New England to visit colleges during their senior year. They decided on two different colleges, but in the same city. Even at their tender age, they knew what existed between them wasn't easily replaced. The combined mixture of their two personalities concocted a special result - something superior, finer, with a jolt of electricity. They didn't want to end up like their parents. Settled into numbness. They wanted more.

Mid-way through college, Jo left Henry. Not because she loved him less, but because she loved him more.

Jo knew Henry had things to do, life to live, before settling down. Settling down before he spread his wings would have clipped them. Jo knew this more than Henry did. His wings were too wide, his light too bright to settle down and start a family with her right after school. Jo wanted him more than anything. He flew. And Jo watched him fly from afar and never stopped loving him.

They drifted. Years later, they both settled down and married other people - people they loved far less than each other. They each had kids. Lived separate lives on separate coasts.

One out-of-the-blue day, after 15 years of life apart, Henry texted,

"Hey, let's meet. I want to take you to dinner."

"OK," Jo replied.

They met at a restaurant at his hotel where he was staying on business. His business bringing him to her city.

During dinner, Jo's told Henry about how her 10-year-marriage was falling apart, divorce looming. Her husband was having an affair with a woman ten years his junior. Jo didn't love him anymore, anyway. His infidelities gave her an excuse to start over, to correct a trajectory that went off course long ago.

Henry told Jo he got married to a friend so she could get a much-needed green card. Ten years later, they were very married with three kids and a ton of responsibilities. His light dimmed.

So much like something Henry would do, Jo thought. If he couldn't marry her, why bother marrying someone for love.

They turned into their parents anyway.

After dinner, they found themselves on top of the hotel's roof, by the pool. They were side-by-side on a chaise lounge under a canopy, the night air breezy and quiet. They were the only two up there, on top of the world. They kissed like no time passed between them.

"I love you, Jo. I never stopped."

"I know," whispered Jo. "I love you."

Jo nestled her head into his chest.

"What would our lives look like now had you and I married?" He asked her quietly.

She looked up at him. He looked the same, his beautiful black hair and dark, olive skin and dark, sad eyes. It was his sad eyes that made her want to take care of him. She knew the stories behind his loneliness.

"If we had gotten married, we would have had four kids, you'd still be madly in love with me, and I with you. We'd be here like we are right now, laying in each other's arms, you'd be making me laugh, and our kids would be so sick of us kissing all the time, they'd be constantly calling us gross but secretly comforted by how in love their parents are."

He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tighter.

"That sounds about right, " He replied.

That was 15 years ago. They hadn't spoken since.

A friendship between them would only enhanced their passion; it would do nothing to defuse it. It was its foundation started from a beginning that never got to see an end. They stayed apart for his marriage to survive.

She still stared at the package, her hands trembling from the unknown.

She ripped it open. Out slide a black Moleskine notebook. She tried to steady her hands enough to hold it still. Henry. Please be OK. No letter, no smaller envelope, just the black notebook. Her mind flashed with images of her journals of the same kind, a moment of calm from the thought of familiarity, one for each year since she started writing again, one for each year she mustered the courage to record her life. A mostly fortunate and happy life, but not nearly as fascinating as she dreamed it would be as a little girl when only possibility lay ahead.

She knew her life was better than most peoples'. She has a beautiful, smart daughter. She had known love with Henry.

The only thing she dreamed of other than Henry was to see a world her financial life couldn't afford her. Her divorce set her back years, wiped out her savings, took her house. It forced her to start from nothing. Similar to when she graduated college, wiser but tired, her youth gone, taking with it her ambition.

Flashes of her life swirled through her head, keeping her from opening the notebook. She yanked herself from thoughts of the past into the small bathroom, holding a notebook she was afraid to open.

She cracked it open. Most of its pages were empty, except the first few. She recognized Henry's terrible penmanship – he never took school seriously, although out of all her high school and college friends, Henry was the most financially successful. Wildly so. Which was surprising to everyone except Jo.

My dearest, Josephine.

Darling. Please sit. If you received this notebook, I'm no longer with you, love. I'm sorry Jo, sorry for the things I didn't say, for things I didn't do.

Josephine slammed the notebook shut, pulled it into her stomach, bent over at the waist, and let out a wail. Henry! I didn't get to say goodbye.

Tears streaked her face, her body swallowed whole by pain. She opened the notebook and tried to read through the cloud of tears blocking her vision. Her hand couldn't wipe them away fast enough.

The letter continued,

You were right. I know you felt it after that night we spent together. I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life but couldn't figure a way out of the trap I put myself in. I didn't want to miss out on my kids growing up. I know you understand that more than anyone. They grew, no longer needed me, adults of their own. I told her I wanted you. I was nearly there, with you again, my bags packed. And then I found out I was dying, 6 months at best. I didn't think it fair to come to you just so you could watch me die. I stayed. I didn't have the heart to blow up everyone's life on my way out.

I didn't tell you of my plans because I knew you'd convince me to come to you sooner. I wish I had let you.

I have thought of you every day and every night since we had dinner and dreamed under the stars. You've consumed me since the day I first saw you walk into the chapel at school. I knew my life had changed for the better. You never left my head or heart in the days since we meet, when we were just kids.

When I took you to dinner 15 years ago, remember when I asked you what you were going to do for money since that asshat husband of yours was doing everything he could to leave you penniless? You shrugged and promised me you'd be OK. You said you could write your way out of financial ruin. You saw the worry on my face, so you quickly joked that maybe you'd buy some Bitcoin and retire in style.

Well, I did, love, for the future life I was planning for us. Shortly after that night, I inherited $20,000. I took your advice and bought 46 Bitcoin. At the time, one coin cost $434. Now, one coin is worth over $100,000—combined, it totals over 4.8 million dollars.

Do you think you can retire in style with that amount?

I have included the private key and instructions to the ledger you need to access the coins on the back of the second to last page of this notebook. Keep it safe. Cash them in. See the world as you dreamed.

I don't care what you do with the money. Just promise me whatever it is that it brings a smile to your face until the end of your days.

This is our last secret love. No one knows about this, not even the lawyer I entrusted to send you this notebook via registered mail.

Your soul and mine will reunite one day, and we'll create the life you told me about when I asked what it would look like if we had married.

Yours forever,

Henry

Jo closed the notebook slowly as tears fell onto the black cover. She pulled it to her stomach, fell onto the floor, and held it against her body like the notebook was her center. She'd give away all 46 coins to see Henry one more time. She stayed on the floor for hours until her daughter came and knocked on the door for dinner.