I unfolded the first note.
Walter’s handwriting—crooked but steady, just like the grocery lists and birthday cards he used to leave behind.
“Edith, I always meant to tell you about this ring, but I never found the right moment.
I kept it all these years because the war showed me how quickly love can slip away.
It was never because you weren’t enough. It was never about holding someone else.
If anything, it made me love you harder, every ordinary day.
If there’s one thing I hope you hold onto, it’s that you were always my safe return.
Yours, always, W.”
Tears blurred my vision. For a brief moment, anger flared—anger that he had never shared this part of himself with me. But then I heard his voice in those words, steady and sincere, and the anger slowly softened.
Paul cleared his throat. “There is another note, Edith. For Elena’s family.”
“Read it, Grandma,” Toby said gently.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the second paper.
