There was an emptiness in the house; in this bed. Daniel groped the side for his wife, but only to be disappointed. She was not there.
His eyes opened and he sat up. These nights—ever since nearly ten or so years ago—Mary-Sue pushed herself away from him. At first, he thought that she was going through a phase since his daughters were going through the hormonal phases that required maternal understanding.
Now that his daughters were grown up, she still didn’t come to bed with him on a regular and normal basis. What she did was make up excuses, like ‘I need to do the bills’ or ‘the house needs cleaning’.
He had a feeling that she knew about his cheating problem.
He ran his hand through his hair. Drifted, yes, totally; they had drifted. But, it was her fault in the first place—she drifted, even if she didn’t know about his problem. Yeah, that’s what he needed to tell himself. It wasn’t his fault—it was all of her fault. Every single thing that has happened was because of her, because it couldn’t have been him. No, seriously, no. The only thing that he admitted was his fault was his cheating problem—and that was only because of her drifting.
By the time Mary-Sue left the house for work, Daniel had already called in sick. Truth was, he wasn’t really sick, but it had been a long time since he was alone. Truly alone.
After a small breakfast of a hot pocket and coffee, he headed to the den. He searched the internet for some things of interest—such as a new hunting gun, or fishing rod. When he was done, it was almost noon. In about three more hours, his girls would be home, and he’d have to listen to their silent bickering.
As he walked into the living room, he noticed a crate of papers near Mary-Sue’s desk. It was a pile of messes, with coffee-stained papers, papers that were dog eared, and frayed papers. Seeing how disorganized it was, he knew that Mary-Sue had just gone through them. Usually, she was an organized person, but this disorganization was only seen during their college years, when she was in a hurry to do things.
For once, Daniel finally thought about what Mary-Sue would have to do when she got him—how tired she would be.
He usually didn’t think about this too because he was usually as tired as she was by the time he got home.
Now, he kind of felt sorry for her having to do everything in the house. Maybe that’s why she had drifted…
Setting down his Budweiser, he made his way for the crate. He skimmed through the papers—thinking they were legal documents or some cases she had over the past years. To his surprise, he realized that these were her old essays in college, and some were even dated back to high school.
He picked some up and skimmed through them, smiling. Her writing brought back some memories of their shared past. He even remembered helping her on a lot of her college essays—if he tried to look closer, he could actually see the words he had given her.
He put them in a single pile and tackled whatever was left in the box. By the time he got to the bottom, two hours had gone by. By the time he got to the bottom, he fount old envelopes, held together in rubber bands that were about to snap.
He took them out, realizing something crucial: these were from him. These letters, dating back to elementary, when they became pen pals…until the day before they got married. It was amazing that she had kept all of these.
He opened some and a swarm of memories flooded him. From his scraggly cursive to his precise printing, he kept thinking about the nonsensical things that he felt significantly necessary to tell her.
He saw one writing to her about the tooth he had just lost; he saw another where he told her about how his younger sister—Jennifer—was going out with someone he didn’t really like.
He then came across another bundle of letters—this time, in Mary-Sue’s writing. But, they were more recent, actually. To be more precise, the oldest one dated to about twenty years ago, when they had just come out of college, married, and started living together.
He opened it. It was dated the date of their first day of marriage: January 17.
I can’t believe that I woke up this morning next to you, Daniel. It was like I was waking into a dream. It sounds weird, but you know me and how weird I can be. I really can’t believe that we actually got married. It just feels like we first met each other yesterday.
I know you know this, but you make me smile, and that’s why I love you so much. Do you love me? Even though we’re married, and we’ve known each other for awhile, I still don’t know if you love me as much as I do. I know I might sound crazy, but you know how women are…
But, I think, even if you don’t love me as much as I do, I’ll probably love you for the rest of my life. You’re the first person I’ve ever felt this way before, I’ll have you know, even if it does sound clichéd.
He folded the letter, biting his lip. The next letter he read was about them going to his sister’s wedding, and how she really still couldn’t believe that they had been married. The next one was about how she found out that she was pregnant with twins. The next one was about the twins’ birth.
Each one, she would mention her lasting love for him, no matter how many hardships they were experiencing.
Then, he came across the one that addressed her doubt of him, even if it still said that she loved him. Finally, he came across the last one—one that had been written last night.
Daniel, what happened? What’s happening to us? Do you still love me? Do I still love you? I admit that I’m tired of this…tired of everything we have. I never knew how tired this would be, or how hard this would be. But, I do understand that this is our life, even though it’s so tiring and it’s so hard to get through.
I’ve always loved you, I think. But, I’ll admit one thing to you: I’m genuinely bored. I’m bored with this—whatever we have, or whatever we did have. I think you feel as though I’m the one who’s changed—maybe you’re right. Maybe I have changed. But, if I’ve changed, then you’ve changed too. You’ve changed much more than I have, I hope you realize.
You might deny it. I know that you’re the type of guy who would deny it. But, even if you do deny it, it’ll still be there, because I would be the one who would still see it.
Recently, I’ve been thinking of a divorce, since Lilith’s boyfriend’s parents might get one. I’ve been thinking about the freedom it would give the both of us, and how much happier we would be. But, then, I got to thinking, divorce usually happens because the two fall out of love. Except, the truth is, I still love you.
But, I keep thinking of how you don’t love me anymore…how there’s no more ‘Mary-Sue’ in your life. And, when I think of it, I realize that a divorce would make it official.
You might call me selfish, but I don’t think I can live the rest of my life without you. The reason why is because you’ve been in my life since third grade—do you remember? And, you were my first love, my first everything. I have dedicated everything to you…and, realizing that, I can’t live without you.
But, what about you? Do you still have only me? Am I still your only one? Am I still the first?
I want to give you this letter, but at the same time, I don’t. Not because I’m scared of it; because you know that I am not an easily frightened person. No, but I think I don’t want to give it to you because I don’t want you to know what really goes on in my life, and how I still feel about you, even after all of this.
His grip on the letter almost made it rip. Was this how she really felt? Even after everything they’ve been through?
He folded it into the envelope. He stared at the envelope. The “to” address merely said “Daniel”. The “from” address only said “Mary-Sue”.
Hearing Angela’s car pull up in the driveway, he slid the letter into his robe’s pocket. Even though she said that might not ever give this letter to him, then he decided to take it.
What was the point in writing a letter that would not be sent?
By the time Mary-Sue returned, she didn’t even realize that her crate of papers had been organized.
After dinner with Angela—without a Lilith or a Daniel—Mary finished some paperwork and prepared for the next day.
When she went upstairs into her bathroom for a shower and a preparation of tomorrow’s clothes, she didn’t even recognize that Daniel had actually cleaned the bathroom.
When she came out of the shower, she wasn’t too surprised to see Daniel skimming their closet.
She slid into her pajamas. “So, you didn’t go to work, today?” she asked.
“I did,” he casually lied, “But, I came home early. I wasn’t feeling too well. Maybe the Chinese we had last night.”
She immediately recognized how he didn’t give her just a simple answer…but also an explanation. Instead, she simply nodded. She brought out her clothes—a spring green dress with a simple brown blazer.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing that.”
She glanced at him. He had never commented on her dresses. “Why not?”
“The neckline is too deep and the colors make you seem more like a little kid than an actual professional.”
He never criticized things. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Instead of replying, he chose something else for her: a grey business suit with a black lace top. “This is more in your style as a professional.”
She looked over the suit, then looked at her husband. With one yank, she took the suit from Daniel and looked at herself in the mirror. He was actually…actually, right. But, she of course, hated to admit it. It was weird having Daniel actually be nice to her. Well, beyond nice. Her definition of nice was asking how was work, or voluntarily doing the dishes. Not nice like picking out her outfit.
“See? Doesn’t it look nice?”
She turned to him, a genuine worry—or perhaps a fear—instilled in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
His question stunned her. “Aren’t I supposed to be nice? I’m your husband.”
The look in her eyes finally registered a crucial fact into his mind: He had never acted this way, and it was strange and foreign to her like an Indian curry.
An awkward moment passed by, which actually made it seem like an eternity. Then, Mary set down her suit on the bed and walked out of the room, as if nothing actually happened.
Daniel stood there—stunned. He had officially realized that he had never been this nice to her, in awhile, and that was what shocked her the most: that he was actually playing the part of a good husband…a caring, loving husband.
When Mary-Sue came into the living room, she didn’t anticipate on seeing Lilith slouching on the couch. It was rare to see Lilith come home early—around seven—these days. Mary ignored her daughter and walked into the kitchen, only to see another surprise: Angela was actually in there, running through some of her own paperwork from school.
“What are these?” Lilith asked. Earlier, she had come across the crate of her mother’s papers, but knew that her sister wouldn’t answer her. She knew her father was least likely to answer her, too. She decided that perhaps her mom might give her some single-word answer.
But, noticing that no one was going to answer her, she went ahead and looked through the paperwork.
At first, she really didn’t seem to mind the lame excuses of a paper or what seemed like a lame excuse of a paper. She read a few lines and decided that it was beyond her comprehension of understanding—since he mom had graduated in the business major, while she was aiming for something way different than business.
Eventually, she came across the letters. Noticing the addresses, she smirked to herself. So, her parents had been pen pals before they were married.
Intrigued, she opened one.
By one thirty, Angela had come down for a drink of water. Except, she noticed the living room light open. She peered into the room, only to find that it was Lilith, like always.
She noticed that Lilith was intent on reading an old piece of paper.
“Is it interesting?” Angela asked.
Lilith glanced up, but probably seeing who it was, decided it would be better to look down again.
“Hey, did you hear me?” Angela stepped into the living room.
“God, I heard you.”
“Then, what is it? The paper you’re reading?”
Lilith knew she would regret it, but some tender feeling overwhelmed her as she glanced at the last word her mother wrote before her mother graduated middle school. And, that tender feeling was telling her that Angela should know what was going on between their parents. “Just come over here.”
Angela gave a skeptical eye.
“If you don’t hurry, then Mom and Dad will hear…”
Attempting to ignore some kind of hostility that had risen in her, Angela took a step forward, and continued until she reached Lilith’s spot.
Lilith handed her the very first letter their mother had ever written to their father. “Go ahead.”
Angel took it, still with a skeptical eye. When she laid her eyes on the failed attempt of penmanship, she had to stifle a snicker. “You’re reading a kindergartener’s letter?”
“Idiot! Look at the address!” Lilith threw her the envelope.
Angela glimpsed at it—but it only took a glimpse. “Mom wrote this?” Her tone of voice was filled with shock.
Lilith nodded. “To Dad. Apparently, they’ve been writing to each other since they were little kids.”
With that said, Angela read deeply into her parents’ letters. It wasn’t long until Angela sat down with Lilith and reviewed almost all of their mother’s letters.
And, when they looked at each other—kind of feeling what their mother felt—they formed a bond. It was a bond that had occurred a long time ago, that they had decided together to bury: a bond that required their memory to work its wonders.
These letters…these letters gave birth to them, and planted the same cycle of letter-writing in the both of them.
With suppressed giggles, they ran up the stairs and into the attic room. With a flashlight in hand, Angela looked around while Lilith tackled the boxes.
Lilith found her box and Angela found hers. They opened both of the boxes, looking at each other while they did.
“I remember I wrote this to you when I went to dance camp…and you were stuck at home,” Angela pointed out as Lilith brought out a baby-blue envelope with two stamps on it.
“And, I wrote that one to you when I went to band camp.” Lilith smiled at the electric green envelope that Angela had brought out.
They re-opened their letters, and shared their memories, while relating themselves to their parents.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, they never came across the last letter their mother wrote—the one that talked about the possibility of a divorce.
And, Daniel knew he wouldn’t let anyone else see it. Ever. It was his letter—it was only his.
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