The Last Letter

Elena sat by the window, her frail fingers shaking as she held an old piece of parchment between them. Though the ink had faded, the words were inscribed in her heart. Outside was the first snow of the season and veiled the little town in silken quiet. She stared out into the world that grew old with her, her mind straying to the years that slipped away like grains of sand.

It had been 50 years since James left. They had grown up in this town, their lives entwined like the branches of the oak tree in the square where they first kissed. The summer they turned 18, James had promised her the world. "We'll leave this place someday," he said, his eyes alight with dreams. "We'll see Paris, Rome, and all those places we read about in books.

But fate had other plans.

The war had broken, and Jimmy was draft. He went away on that cold November morning when the last leave fell from the oak tree. Elena was standing on the platform of the train in tears as he goodbye waved. The last words before the train disappeared before him reminded her every day: "I will come back, Ellie. Wait for me.

For months, she wrote him letters filled with the passion of a prose writer. She told him about the town, the gossip at the bakery, and the way the sunsets looked over the hills. But as time went on, his replies came in fitful spurts and then ceased completely. She kept telling herself he was just busy; after all, the war had consumed his time.

Then one day, a letter arrived.

That was not from James. It was from a man in the unit to her, mentioning that James went missing in an operation. She believed he was dead. The words blurred as she cried, streaming down her face. Life seemed to crumble down for her.

All these years passed, but she could not let him go. She refused to believe that James was really gone. She stayed in their little town, staying in the house where they have both dreamed of. She never married, never left. She spent her days teaching in the local school, while nights went with the window watching for the miracle.

One day, many years later, while tidying up the attic, she came across an old, dusty trunk. Among the torn letters she had never seen before, there was a packet addressed to her by James. Her heart racing, she tore open one of them.

"Dearest Ellie,

The letter may not even find you; we are now in a camp, things look gloomy. But it's all because of you that I go on. I dream to see you again one day. I shall surely come back. Wait for me, my love.

Yours Always,

James"

Tears were streaming down her face as she read letter after letter of how James stood unwavering in his love for them. They had been written during his captivity but, mysteriously, never found their destination. She realized that he had fought to hold onto hope at all costs, in the darkest depth.

The last letter was dated three months before the end of the war. It was shorter than the rest.

"Ellie,

If you're reading this, it means I didn't make it home. But I want you to know that loving you was the greatest honor of my life. Don't mourn me, my darling. Live. Be happy. Travel the world like we planned. I'll be with you, always.

James"

Elena sat for hours in the attic, holding all those letters to her chest. She thought of how many years she had spent expecting a ghost, waiting for some ethereal apparition, when instead she might have experienced everything she was now seeing.

The following morning, she packed a small bag and booked a train ticket. For the first time in her life, she left the town. She went to Paris and stood under the Eiffel Tower. She visited Rome and walked through the ruins. She went to every place James had dreamed of seeing.

At each stop, she wrote a letter to him, where she told him about the views she saw, the people she met, and her life at last.

Elena died in her sleep one winter evening, her heart full of love and her spirit at peace. They found her clasping a pile of letters with the name "James" across them. Each letter started with the same words:

"My dearest James,

I finally made it.