I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I tore open the box and found a letter from his first love, confessing she was pregnant and asking him to meet her at the bus station. She never stopped loving him.
Tyler came downstairs as I held the letter. “What did you do?!” he shouted. “That was my most precious memory!”
I pointed at the letter, stunned. “She was pregnant, waiting for you, and you didn’t even open it?”
“I was scared,” he muttered, face crumpling.
“Coward,” I snapped. “You didn’t even give her a chance.”
He broke down, realizing he missed his chance, twice.
“I’m done,” I said, walking away. “I won’t be second to a ghost.”
The divorce was quiet, and Tyler eventually found her. I heard through our youngest that she was happily married and their son wanted nothing to do with him.
I moved into a small apartment. Last Christmas Eve, I watched the lights outside my window, sipping tea in peace—no tree, no gifts, no ghosts. Just peace.