The letter in the Box

The Letter in the Box

The sea was calm the day they buried him.

Clara stood beneath a sky the color of smoke, the wind lifting strands of her hair as if the world itself was unsure how to behave without him. The pastor said words she didn’t hear. Someone pressed a tissue into her hand. A woman she barely knew whispered something about time healing all wounds.

Time. She had no sense of it anymore.

People came. People cried. People left.

But Clara stayed.

She lingered after the last car rolled away, the soles of her shoes damp from the grass. The gravestone was simple—just his name, the dates, and a line she had chosen with trembling hands: “Forever in the tide.” He’d loved the ocean. Said it was the only place that made him feel both small and infinite.

She had thought he told her everything.

That night, the house was too quiet. Too full of echoes. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep in their bed, so she sat on the closet floor wrapped in his old navy sweater, her knees pulled to her chest. The scent of him still clung to the fabric—cedar and salt and something she could never name.

That’s when she saw the box.

It was small, wooden, tucked behind an old suitcase and forgotten scarves. The brass clasp was tarnished, the edges softened with time. She stared at it for a long moment before reaching for it, her hands slow, unsure.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them, neatly folded, tied with a faded blue ribbon. Her breath caught.

She knew his handwriting instantly.

But none of the envelopes were addressed to her.

The top one was labeled simply: Mae.

Clara’s chest tightened. She unfolded the letter with care, her fingers trembling.

Mae,

I dreamed of the sea again last night. It always brings me back to you. Maybe in another life, we’d have been brave enough. But I’ll keep writing. It’s the only way I know how to hold you now…

Her heart thudded in her ears. She reached for the next.

I saw a green sea glass pendant today. You always said the green ones were luckier. I almost bought it—for you, of course. But I didn’t. I’m trying to be the man I said I would be. Still, my heart hasn’t forgotten…

Clara’s throat burned.

Who was Mae?

Why had Thomas never mentioned her? And why, in all their years together, had he kept writing to a woman who wasn’t his wife?

The grief she had been holding so tightly cracked open, letting something else spill in—confusion, betrayal, disbelief.

She closed the box slowly, as if putting the lid back on would silence the questions screaming in her head.

She had loved him. Trusted him.

But maybe she hadn’t known him at all.

And as the sea whispered beyond the walls of their home, Clara realized the truth wasn’t buried with him.

It was only just beginning to surface.

Word count: approx. 540 words

Let me know if you’d like to move into Chapter Three now, or build a quick outline to track Clara’s journey from here!

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