Page 113 of The Wrong Game

Maybe he took it off when the other woman came to visit him.

I placed it to the side.

It was sad, to see the last of what was once a man consolidated like that in a tiny little box. There was his wallet, with a little cash, old cards that had already been cancelled, a couple of photos — one of us, one of his family. There was a watch, a pair of socks we’d brought from home because his feet were always cold in the hospital, a few books he’d requested, and a stack of papers regarding something at the tech company. None of it made sense to me, except that it didn’t surprise me he’d worked up until he died.

That was just the man he was.

I filtered through the box, finding little things here and there, nothing of significance. I couldn’t figure out why Sofia had thought I would need to go through it, need to see any of it all. Perhaps the wedding ring?

But when I made it to the bottom of the box, there was a stack of envelopes. And on the very top the one Sofia had referred to. It had my name written in his shaky, messy handwriting.

Gem.

I picked it up, feeling the harsh, cold paper in my hand as I ran my fingers over the ink. I’d always wanted Carlo to write me letters. I’d asked him to when we were younger, in college, thinking it would be romantic. But he never wanted to. Then, again, for our anniversaries, I tried hinting to him by writinghimlong letters each year. Still, he never wrote one in return.

Until now.

It felt like I was watching from above, like I was outside of my body as I opened up that envelope and unfolded the paper inside of it.

Then, I took a breath, and I read.

My Beautiful Gem,

There are no words I can say to comfort you in this time. If you are reading this letter, it means I’ve passed away, that I have left this physical Earth and you behind to live in it. And for that, I am truly sorry.

But what I want you to know more than anything is that I love you.

I have loved you since the very first moment I saw you, and my love for you has only grown over time. I’m so sorry I had to leave you before we could build our life together, the one we always pictured.

There are no words to make this easier, to take away your pain or ease the thoughts I’ve had haunting me at night as I lie in this bed, waiting to pass. I’ve never been good with words. That was always your thing. But I wanted to write this letter to you and tell you that you are the love of my life, and I will wait for you in Heaven.

Take care of yourself, and take your time.

I love you.

Carlo

I didn’t realize I was crying until the first tear fell from my wet cheek, splashing onto the paper and splotching the ink over where he’d said he loved me. And as soon as that first tear fell, I lost it. My face twisted, one hand covering my stomach where it sank and tugged at my heart from the inside. I dropped the letter to the counter and covered my mouth with my other hand, squeezing my eyes shut and sobbing harder than I ever had in my life.

It was like holding my husband in my hands, reading that letter.Myhusband. The one I thought I knew. The one I believed.

The sobs that racked through me in the next minutes were brutal. They ripped me from the inside out, leaving me breathless, and at one point, I fell down to the floor, sitting on the cold tile with my knees hugged into my chest.

I couldn’t place why it was I was crying. Maybe it was because I missed him. Maybe it was because I loved him, still. Maybe it was because I hated him, too.

I couldn’t be sure, not even when I finally stood again, still sniffling, eyes puffy as I folded my note away and tucked it back inside the envelope. I pulled out the rest of the envelopes next, seeing that he’d written to his mom, his dad, even my parents. Sofia must really have stopped once she saw my name, because the letter addressed to her was still sealed shut.

I put them all to the side, knowing I’d need to deliver those, next.

But my hand paused at the last envelope in the stack.

It was written to someone I didn’t know. To a name that wasn’t familiar.

Brielle.

Everything slowed — my heart, my breath, my hands as they reached for that bottom envelope. It wasn’t addressed to me. I knew I shouldn’t read it.

But I opened it, anyway.