Meanwhile, Eric rolled out of bed, weighed down by exhaustion before the day even began. Another shift at the factory. More bills. He paused to kiss their sleeping triplets, grabbed his worn briefcase, and trudged out the door, his thoughts already on how to make it to bedtime.
That evening, Eric stepped into the house—and froze. The flicker of candles, the scent of pasta, and Cora, glowing in her scarlet dress, awaited him. For a second, he remembered her laughter from their early days. But fatigue and frustration won out. He flipped on the overhead light. “What is this, Cora? Are we fifteen again?” he snapped.
Her smile faltered, but she kept her voice soft. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I thought we could have a nice dinner, just us.” She guided him to the table, but he pushed the plate away, his voice rising. “I bust my tail all day, and you waste money on this nonsense?” He hurled the small gift box across the room.
From upstairs, the triplets began to cry. Cora stood silently, then turned to tend to them—only to realize they were out of diapers. Without a word, she grabbed her purse and keys. “I’ll be back,” she said, and walked out the door.
“Learn to be a proper mother,” Eric muttered as she left, collapsing onto the couch.
An hour passed. The children cried. Eric paced, his guilt creeping in. He reached for his phone to call her. But before he could dial, there was a knock at the door.
A police officer stood on the porch. “Mr. Thompson?” Eric nodded. “I’m sorry to inform you—your wife was in a fatal car accident on her way home.”
The words shattered him. At the morgue, he barely recognized her still form. He staggered through the motions, numb with guilt, each moment echoing with the words he couldn’t take back.
The next day, he locked himself in, unable to face the world. Then his eyes fell on the untouched Valentine’s table—and the small gift box, still lying beneath the tablecloth.
Hands trembling, he opened it.
Inside were two plane tickets to Hawaii, and a handwritten letter. Cora had landed a job. Arranged childcare with the neighbor. Planned everything so they could finally take the trip he’d always dreamed of but never had time to plan. Her letter overflowed with love, hope, and joy for the future she believed they still had.
Eric broke.
From that day forward, he devoted himself to raising their children with patience and tenderness—vowing never to let anger speak louder than love again. Every Valentine’s Day, he visits Cora’s grave with the tickets and her letter, whispering the apologies she’ll never hear, and telling her how much she’s still loved.
He never remarried. His heart, forever shaped by Cora’s final act of devotion, belongs to her—and to the lesson she left behind: never take love for granted, and never let the moment slip away.