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Na het overlijden van mijn vrouw ontdekte ik dat we al meer dan 20 jaar gescheiden waren. Wat ik daarna ontdekte, schokte me nog veel meer.

But I could imagine it.

Maybe I saw the sadness in Claire’s eyes, saw what the waiting during my recovery was doing to her. Perhaps, I wanted to set her free — even if I didn’t know what I was losing.

I sank back against the bed, the paper falling into my lap. The house felt too quiet now, the silence pressing in like a second skin.

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I stared at the open box on the floor, willing it to shift and offer a better explanation.

My brain was trying to catch up,

but my body just felt hollow.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel.

Grief? Yes.

Betrayal? Maybe.

Confusion? Absolutely.

And maybe something much deeper.

Something closer to loss layered inside the loss

I was already drowning in.

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Then came the knock at the door.

It was firm, not tentative like a neighbor offering condolences or a casserole of food. This was someone who knew they had a reason to be there.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and stood. My legs felt heavier than they should have. When I opened the door, a man in a charcoal suit stood on the porch holding an envelope.

« James? » he asked.

« Are you Claire’s husband? »

« Yes. »

« My name is Mr. Johnson. I was your wife’s attorney. May I come in for a moment? »

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I nodded, stepping back to let him in. We didn’t shake hands. He followed me into the living room and paused just before sitting.

« She left something for you, »

he said, offering the envelope.

I hesitated, wondering what on earth Claire could have left behind that wasn’t as unnerving as the contents of the box. I took the envelope from him, and I flinched at seeing Claire’s handwriting.

It was just my first name, written with the same curve and ease she used when labeling spice jars or writing « pick up milk » on the fridge notepad.

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I opened it slowly, unfolding the pages as if they might crumble.

Her words met me like a voice

echoing from a locked room.

« My dearest James,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. »

She didn’t waste any time writing about other things. Every single word was measured. Lila — a daughter I’d never known, from a pregnancy she’d faced alone.

« I am deeply sorry for the secrets I kept.

I did what I thought would protect you… protect us.

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