I JUST FOUND A SECRET STACK OF UNDELIVERED LETTERS IN OUR ATTIC
The old cardboard box tumbled from the top shelf in the attic, scattering dust and forgotten memories. My breath caught as I knelt, recognizing his messy handwriting on a stack of envelopes, all addressed to me but never sent. Each one looked like it had been held, then put away, tucked behind old photo albums from our wedding.
The first letter was dated three years ago, right before we moved. It detailed a job offer in a different state, one he had sworn to me he never even considered, claiming it wasn’t right for us or our future. “But you swore you never applied,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth, bile rising in my throat as I clutched the fragile paper. My fingers felt gritty from the thick attic dust as I pulled out another, then another, my heart pounding.
That one, from a year later, talked about his “sudden” financial struggles, explaining money we never saw and debt we didn’t know about. It detailed loans he took out, money he apparently sent to someone else, a name I vaguely recognized. Each subsequent letter was a new confession, a detailed explanation of a decision he had presented to me as something entirely different, always for my benefit, always a lie. The musty smell of old paper filled my nostrils, thick with deceit and broken promises I thought were sacred.
He described a whole other life in these pages, elaborate justifications for unexplained absences and strange phone calls that now made sickening sense. I scrolled through the dates, a cold dread seeping into my bones, realizing the deception spanned our entire relationship, a carefully constructed alternate reality built on words never spoken aloud. This wasn’t just a secret kept; it was a life I never truly knew.
Then the faint, unfamiliar voice from the baby monitor downstairs started whispering my name.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My hands trembled as I stuffed the letters back into the box, the baby monitor’s insistent murmur a siren calling me back to the present. But the present was irrevocably tainted, poisoned by the ghosts of his lies. I staggered downstairs, the weight of the attic pressing down on me.
My baby, Lily, was stirring in her crib, her tiny fists waving in the air. I scooped her up, burying my face in her soft, downy hair. The scent of baby powder and innocence was a stark contrast to the musty smell of deceit clinging to my clothes. “Oh, Lily,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. “What have we done?”
He walked in then, drawn by the sound of Lily’s fussing. His face, usually a comforting landscape, now felt alien, a carefully constructed mask I could no longer trust. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice casual, his eyes betraying a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher – guilt? Fear?
I clutched Lily tighter. “I was in the attic,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
His smile faltered. “Oh? Finding any treasures?”
“I found a box,” I continued, my gaze unwavering. “A box full of letters.”
The color drained from his face. He knew. The carefully crafted façade crumbled, revealing the raw fear beneath. He took a step towards me, hand outstretched, but I flinched away.
“Don’t,” I said, my voice gaining strength. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”
He stood frozen, his silence a confirmation of everything I had read. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“I need time,” I said, my voice firm despite the turmoil raging inside. “I need time to process this. I need time to decide what comes next.”
I turned away, cradling Lily close, and walked out of the room, leaving him standing alone in the wreckage of his lies. The future stretched before me, uncertain and daunting, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like my own.