The Last Letter

Eleanor sat by the window of her small, quiet house. The sun was setting, and soft orange light came through the curtains. In her hands, she held an old envelope. The paper was yellow and thin. The corners were bent. It had a date on it: March 14, 1975. It was a letter from James. She had never opened it. She had kept it for fifty years. James had been the love of her life. They met when they were young. They used to walk by the river, laugh under the stars, and dream about their future. Eleanor thought they would get married, buy a little house, and grow old together. But then, one day, James left. He joined the army and went to war. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t explain anything. He just disappeared, and the next day, this letter arrived in the mail. Eleanor was heartbroken. She was also angry. Why didn’t he talk to her? Why didn’t he tell her he was going? She was so upset that she didn’t open the letter. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She put the envelope in a drawer and closed it. She told herself she didn’t care anymore. But she did care. A lot. Years passed. James never came back. Eleanor stayed in the same house. She never married. People asked her why, but she never gave a real answer. The truth was, no one else felt like James. No one else felt right. She always wondered what the letter said. Now, she was old. Her hands were wrinkled. Her hair was white. She lived alone. The world had changed, but the letter was still there. One quiet evening, she finally opened it. Her fingers shook as she pulled out the paper and began to read.

My dear Eleanor,
I know you’re angry. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, but I had to go. The army gave me orders. I didn’t have a choice. But I didn’t leave without leaving something behind. Go to the big oak tree behind the barn. Dig near the roots. You’ll find something there. If I don’t come back, it’s yours. I love you, always.

— James

Eleanor stared at the letter. Her heart was beating fast. Could it really be true? The barn was gone now. It had fallen down many years ago in a storm. But the oak tree still stood behind where the barn used to be. Big and strong, with thick branches and deep roots. She stood up slowly, grabbed her coat, a small flashlight, and a garden shovel. It was almost dark outside, but the sky still glowed a soft purple. She walked carefully through the tall grass behind her house. The wind was gentle. The oak tree stood tall in the quiet field. She knelt down by the roots and started to dig. The dirt was soft. She dug a little deeper. Then clink! her shovel hit something hard. It was a small metal box. Old and rusty, but still closed tight. She wiped off the dirt with her hands and opened it. Inside was a small velvet ring box. Her breath caught. Her eyes filled with tears as she opened the ring box. There, inside, was a simple, beautiful diamond ring. James had been planning to propose. All these years, she had wondered if he truly loved her. Now, she knew the truth. He had loved her. He had wanted to marry her. He hadn’t just left her ,he had left her a promise. Eleanor sat down on the ground, holding the ring to her chest. She looked up at the sky. The stars were starting to come out. She smiled through her tears. “I waited,” she whispered. The wind rustled through the leaves of the old oak tree. It felt like the wind was answering her, soft and warm: “I knew.” Eleanor stayed by the tree for a long time, remembering. She thought about the walks they took, the stories they shared, and the laughter that once filled her world. She remembered the way James smiled, the way he held her hand, the way he looked at her like she was his whole world. Even though life had moved on, this one moment made her heart full again. The sadness didn’t go away, but now it was mixed with something else: peace. She wasn’t angry anymore. She wasn’t lost. She had her answer. And she had the ring. She wore the ring on a chain around her neck from that day on. When people asked her about it, she would smile softly and say, “It’s from someone I once loved very much.” Sometimes, she would sit under the oak tree with a cup of tea and talk to James, like he was right there beside her. In many ways, he was. Love like that never really goes away. It lives in letters, in trees, in rings buried beneath the ground. It lives in memories. It lives in waiting. And sometimes , just sometimes , it lives in the wind.

The End.