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For nearly fifteen years, my job had one unavoidable downside.
Travel.
Sometimes I was gone for three days.
Sometimes five.
Occasionally an entire week.
My wife, Jane, always insisted she didn’t mind.
“You always come home,” she’d say with a smile.
Those words became our tradition.
Every time I pulled out of the driveway, she’d stand on the front porch waving until my car disappeared around the corner.
Every time I returned, she’d be standing in that exact same spot waiting for me.
No matter how exhausted I was after traveling, seeing her smile made every mile worthwhile.
That’s why something felt wrong the moment I turned onto our street after my latest business trip.
She wasn’t outside.
Instead, something else caught my attention.
Flowers.
Everywhere.
The front porch looked like a flower shop had exploded.
Red roses.
White roses.
Pink roses.
Yellow roses.
Dozens upon dozens of bouquets covered every step leading to our front door.
For a second, I wondered if I’d somehow driven to the wrong house.
Then Jane opened the door.
She stopped immediately.
“What…?”
Her eyes grew wide.
She looked just as surprised as I was.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
I laughed awkwardly.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
She slowly walked onto the porch, staring at the mountain of flowers.
“There must be at least a hundred roses.”
I forced a smile.
“Looks like someone has a secret admirer.”
I meant it as a joke.
But hearing those words come out of my own mouth made something uncomfortable settle in my stomach.
Jane immediately shook her head.
“I swear, I have no idea where these came from.”
She looked genuinely confused.
I wanted to believe her.
Then I noticed a small white envelope tucked beneath a ribbon on one of the bouquets.
I reached for it before she even saw it.
My heart began racing.
Every terrible possibility rushed through my mind.
Slowly, I unfolded the note.
It contained only three short sentences.
“Thank you for loving him when I no longer could.
You gave him the life I wished he would have.
You’ll always have my gratitude.”
I read the words three times before I understood them.
Jane looked at me nervously.
“What does it say?”
I handed her the note without speaking.
She read it silently.