The cemetery’s low, gloomy sky threw long, frightening shadows on the stone graves. Amelia went carefully, one hand on her developing tummy and the other holding Maxim’s favorite white flowers. The chest pain that would not go away made every step heavier, not the pregnancy.
It had been about six months after the disaster. Officials labeled it an accident. Amelia secretly doubted it. It always seemed incomplete.
Her visits to Maxim’s tomb were sacrosanct. Her anxieties, hopes, and apologies to the guy she lost too young were spoken each Sunday in the same location. Only there did she feel him near.
This Sunday was different.
As she bent to remove fallen leaves off the marble stone, she saw something odd. A faded brown wallet, cracking at the edges, was placed carefully alongside the grave. Nothing the wind blew there. Someone placed it.
It grabbed her breath.
She paused. Her fingers shook as she grabbed it. The leather felt warm, like it had just been put there. She noticed no one around. Only leaves rustling and a faraway bird’s call broke the stillness.
Heart racing, Amelia opened the pocketbook.
Photos were inside.
Photos she’d never seen.
Her and Maxim—at the beach, at their favorite café, even his soft palm on her tummy the night they discovered she was pregnant. Someone obtained them. How? They were here why?
Hidden underneath the final shot was a folded paper. She opened it with chilly fingers, fearful and curious.
His penmanship was distinct.
“If you’re reading this, I’m gone.
Please forgive me for not telling you everything.
I chose a manageable job. It was more risky than imagined.
I withheld it for your safety. To safeguard our child.
I wanted you to have this if I died.
Stop trying to comprehend.
Avoid historical replies.
Just live.
Love again.
My love for you never wavered.”
Amelia’s eyesight clouded. She sobbed on the grass, holding the pocketbook. Her months-long anguish became evident. There was more than sorrow. It revealed a fact she wasn’t ready to confront.
Maxim wasn’t killed randomly. He was engaged in something deeper, which he withheld from her to shield her or save her suffering. But someone brought the wallet. After waiting, someone told her the truth.
Who?
Why now?
Amelia felt watched for days thereafter. She regularly saw a dark automobile parked down the street. Passing strangers appeared to stop too long. It appeared like the wallet was only the start of something bigger.
Despite the anxiety and darkness following her, there was brightness. Knowing Maxim was always with her. He had planned and left a note. He sought to insulate her from a world she never knew he was in.
She started writing every memory and idea. For herself. For her developing kid. Perhaps one day for the individual who left the wallet near the grave.
Amelia revisited Maxim’s grave on a dreary Tuesday morning. I discovered your message,” she muttered, placing a sunflower on the stone. Now I understand.”
She turned, palm again on her abdomen, and left with her head held high, not because she was done mourning but because she was ready to live.
For her.
For their kid.
For the guy who loved them both enough to let go.
