The Last Letter

Margaret's small, peaceful house was full of weights. A few years after her husband Arthur died, she always felt her presence in the rustling of the old curtains, and checked the chronometer he had once installed with such caution. Life continued without him, but it never evolved.

On a rainy day, Margaret decides to understand this through the attic. Inside an ancient trunk and dusty box, she finds a forgotten envelope hidden in the corner of her old breast - letters sealed with a faded red wax pad. It was addressed to him, but he was definitely written and written by Arthur. She had never seen this before. Her heart missed when she opened him, not knowing what to expect. The letter came from Arthur, written just before his sudden death. He was too sick to speak, and the words he left behind were filled with love, regret, and excuses he had not had the opportunity to give. In it he expressed how he wanted them to spend more time, that there was something left unsaid, and that she wanted to allow him not to properly say goodbye to him. He thanked her for a life that he lived well and promised to always be with her mentally. To overcome emotions, Margaret reduces the letter on several occasions. Her husband's familiar voice was repeated in her head, reminding her of their common joys and calm spaces between them at that time and the disease was cut. She felt both comforted and deeply saddened by the words, a bittersweet mixture of closure and longing.

Determined to find peace, Margaret decided to visit the places Arthur had written about in the letter. Their favorite park, a river coffee, a small bookstore where they met for the first time. Each place was a step to meet not only with Arthur's memory, but also with a woman that she was once a woman, full of dreams, laughter and passion for life.

As she visited these places, Margaret found herself speaking to the past, as though Arthur was there beside her. She remembered the way he would hold her hand on their walks, the sound of his laughter echoing in the quiet of their home, the warmth of his embrace when life became overwhelming. With every visit, she not only came close to him, but she felt herself too.

When Margaret returned home, she was beginning to forgive what had broken her heart. She reconciled with unspoken words, lost time and silence that filled her world after his death. She no longer felt that the last page of the book was torn, but rather that she found the next chapter in which she could continue to live and love, even without him physically next to her.

*\"My dearest Margaret,

This will be my final letter to you. Not because I have run out of words, but because I have finally found peace. So long, I hung on to the past, fearing that the holidays would lose you. But now I see - you are never gone. You are in the laughter of our grandson, the sun's chiplen in my face, in a calm moment of love that continues.

So, tonight, I am writing with gratitude, not with sadness. Thank you for a love life. Thank you for being my biggest story. So far, I will never see you again

Thomas. \ "*

In a deep breath, he folded the letter and placed it in the box with the rest. However, this time he didn't cover the lid. Instead, he left it open so that the wind would carry the scent of old paper and ink at night.

And for a long time, Thomas felt the light - as if Margaret had smiled, reading his words behind the star.

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