The police officer’s knock came at 9:17 PM. Eric barely registered the words “single-vehicle accident” before collapsing against the doorframe. Just ninety minutes earlier, he’d berated Cora for “wasting time” on Valentine’s decorations instead of chores. He hadn’t noticed her trembling lips or the way she’d clutched her stomach before walking out.
Days later, sorting through her things, he found the gift—still wrapped, still waiting. The Hawaii tickets inside were dated for April, accompanied by a job offer letter proving she’d been working to ease his burdens. Her note ended with: “P.S. The kids are staying with your sister. Just us this time.”
Now, Eric keeps the cheesecake recipe framed in their kitchen. He makes it every February 14th, serving slices at the cemetery while their triplets leave handmade cards beside the headstone. The hardest lesson? Some apologies come too late, and love sometimes appears in sinks full of dishes—if only we think to look.
