Fifteen minutes before the ceremony, the garden gate opened.
A woman stood outside, gripping a thick manila envelope against her chest.
She looked close to my age. Her gray hair had been pulled back hastily, and exhaustion lined her face.
Her eyes were unmistakably Harold’s.
“Maggie?” she called. “Margaret?”
Every conversation in the garden stopped.
“Are your children here?” she asked.
Beside me, Harold went rigid.
His face turned pale.
He moved toward the gate quickly.
“This is neither the time nor the place,” he said.
The woman looked past him directly at me.
“Your children told me to place this envelope in your hands. They were very clear that I must not give it to Harold.”
My heart began pounding.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Nora,” she replied. “I’m his sister.”
Harold’s voice became cold.
“Leave.”
Nora ignored him.
She walked toward me, clutching the envelope so tightly that it shook in her hands.
“I hadn’t spoken to my brother in two years,” she explained. “Then your daughter found me and sent me your engagement photograph. I went to Harold’s trailer because she needed proof of where he was really living.”
She swallowed.
“I found much more than an address.”
She extended the envelope.
“Please read what is inside before you marry him.”
Daniel’s Handwriting
The envelope contained a bundle of old letters tied together with faded blue ribbon.
I recognized the handwriting before I unfolded the first page.
Daniel’s.
My bouquet slipped from my fingers and landed on the grass.
The first letter had been written when Daniel and Harold were young men. Daniel had been away temporarily and had written to his friend about the girl he loved.
About me.
Halfway down the page, Daniel described my yellow graduation dress.
In another letter, he mentioned the note I had hidden inside a chemistry textbook because I had been too shy to speak.
The memories Harold had used to win my trust were not his memories at all.
They belonged to my husband.
I looked up at him.
“You didn’t remember me.”
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