The Lost Letter

Written by Sandy Whitlow

The Lost Letter

Evelyn Harper sat on the porch of her old Victorian home, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the wooden steps. At 78, she had lived a full life of love, loss, and memories tucked away in the attic like forgotten keepsakes.

The mailman, a young man with an easy smile, approached with a small stack of letters. “Got something interesting for you today, Mrs. Harper,” he said, handing her an envelope that looked out of place among the modern bills and advertisements.

The paper was yellowed by age, the edges brittle. The postmark read 1975.

Her breath caught. The sender’s name smudged, but the handwriting—oh, she knew that handwriting. She slid her nail under the seal with trembling fingers and unfolded the fragile paper.

“My Dearest Evelyn,”

“If you’re reading this, fate has played a cruel trick, delaying the words I should have spoken long ago. I was a fool to leave, a coward to believe that time would grant us another chance. I should have married you that summer. I should have stayed. The war changed me, but it never changed my love for you. If I could turn back the clock, I would. If there’s still time, tell me you forgive me. Tell me I wasn’t too late.”

“Forever yours,

Bill”

Evelyn’s heart ached as she read the words meant for a version of herself long gone. Bill. The boy she had loved. The man who had left. She had waited once, standing by the train station with a hopeful heart, only to hear months later that he had vanished overseas, presumed dead.

But he hadn’t been.

She pressed the letter to her chest, closing her eyes against the flood of emotions. Somewhere, in another lifetime, they had a different ending.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she whispered into the quiet of the evening, “I forgave you a long time ago, Bill. But we were always too late, weren’t we?”

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, she let the letter rest in her lap, a final piece of the past finding its way home.