As Margaret grew older, she harbored a secret that had long haunted her. In her youth, she had loved Thomas — a simple man, kind, and full of dreams of building a small home where they could live together and raise a family. But Margaret chose a different path. She left for the city, leaving Thomas and their shared dreams behind.
Thomas sent letters every month. At first, Margaret read them. But eventually, she began not to open any of them, thinking it would be easier to forget if she didn’t remember. Until the envelopes piled up in a box — memories of the man she had left behind.
Fifty-three years passed without an answer from him. Margaret married, had children, grew older. But her conscience wouldn’t let her go. What had happened to Thomas? Was he still angry? Was he still alive?
One autumn afternoon, cane in hand and trembling hands, Margaret set off back to the town of her youth. When she reached Thomas’s old home, her heart beat as fast as if she were a young woman again.
But Thomas was not at the door. No smile. No forgiving arms.
What emerged was a house—ruined, dilapidated, and silent. The windows were broken, the roof was falling apart, and the yard was overgrown with weeds.
Inside, the air was thick with dust. On a small table, letters were piled up, tied with a piece of string. The handwriting was familiar—Thomas’s. The strokes of the pen were faint, but still full of love. They all had her name on them. She never stopped writing.
Margaret sank to the floor, sobbing as tears streamed down her wrinkled face. Despite the decades, Thomas still kept his promise to love her, even if she never returned.
And then he noticed something: an old photo on top of the old dresser. It was Thomas, smiling, with a woman and two children. On the back of the photo, written in faded ink:
“My family — but my heart will always be Margaret’s.”
His chest felt squeezed. Thomas had a family of his own, but his love for her had never faded. And now, it was too late for him to apologize.
Because sometimes, love can wait a lifetime… but time, never waits.