I knew something was wrong before I opened it. Jeffrey’s letters usually started with a joke.
This one didn’t.
I didn’t want to ruin it.
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“Ruth,
Margaret and I are getting married. The ceremony is in August.”
I sat at our kitchen table staring at the sentence. I kept reading.
My best friend told me the wedding would be small and Margaret’s family was helping them get settled.
Then I reached the bottom. There was one more thing.
Jeffrey asked me not to contact him again.
I kept reading.
He said Margaret knew how close we’d been and that he wanted to give his marriage a fair start. Jeffrey said our friendship mattered too much to him to let it become something that hurt someone else.
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Then he wrote:
“I hope you have a wonderful life, Ruthie.
I’m sorry.
Jeffrey.”
I cried for weeks.
But I respected his
choice. I didn’t write back, call, or try to see him.
Margaret knew how close we’d been.
I heard pieces of his life through people who still knew his family. He and Margaret had a child, and he built a career.
Eventually, the updates stopped too.
I have never been married. I dated and had relationships.
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Some were good.
One almost became serious.
The updates stopped too.
But whenever people asked why I never settled down, I gave them the easiest answer.
“I just never met the right man.”
However, that wasn’t entirely true. I had met him at 17.
***
Last Tuesday, I turned 60.
I live in my childhood home now.
I never settled down.
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After my parents died, I kept the house. I’d spent so many years moving from one apartment to another that coming back felt right.
That evening, I had dinner alone and cut
I closed my eyes.
“What?”
“I was in love with you when we made that promise.”
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I couldn’t move.
I closed my eyes.
“Jeffrey…”
“And I’d already bought the ring.”
My eyes opened.
“What ring?”
“The one I was going to give you before I left for college.”
The room seemed to tilt. I stood up.
“Then why did you marry someone else?”
He started crying.
“That’s what I’ve spent 40 years wishing I could explain.”
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“What ring?”
My best friend’s voice dropped.
“I need you to come here.”
“Jeffrey…”
“Please come to the hospital.”
His breathing was uneven.
“There’s one thing you need to see. Once you do, you’ll understand why I walked away.”
“Jeffrey… I…”
“Please, Ruth. Hurry.”
I grabbed my coat.
“Where are you?”
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“Please come to the hospital.”
***
Forty minutes later, I walked into his hospital room. Jeffrey looked at me and smiled.