At 78, I sold everything I owned—my apartment, truck, and vinyl collection—all for her. A letter from Elizabeth arrived, rekindling old memories. After forty years, we began exchanging letters, and she gave me her address. I sold everything and booked a flight, but I had a heart attack on the plane and was taken to the hospital.
There, I met Lauren, my nurse, who had her own painful past. She knew about my plans to meet Elizabeth and shared her own story of loss. After my release, Lauren offered me a way out, and we drove to Elizabeth’s address, only to find it was a nursing home. Elizabeth’s sister, Susan, revealed that Elizabeth had passed away the year before, but had kept my letters all these years.
At Elizabeth’s grave, I whispered that I had made it—but I was too late. I realized then that I had been running from loss all my life. I stopped, bought back Elizabeth’s house, and offered Susan a place to stay. Lauren also moved in. Together, we found a new home and peace. Fate gave me two loves.
Leave a Reply