Inside the envelope, there was a single sheet of paper, yellowed with age but meticulously preserved. On it was a letter from her husband, his words immediately enveloping her like a familiar embrace. The letter was dated several years back, written during a time when their lives were bustling with dreams and shared ambitions.
“My Dearest Eleanor,” it began, “If you are reading this, I am no longer by your side. Life, as unpredictable as it is, has taken that choice from us. But know this: not a day passed without my gratitude for the sacrifices you made and the love you gave. I owe everything to you.”
Eleanor’s eyes welled with tears, the memories flooding back — the late nights spent strategizing, the unwavering support she had given him through thick and thin. He had always credited his success to her quiet strength, though rarely did he voice it aloud, caught up in the whirlwind of building an empire.
