When my husband Eric said he needed some time to think, my whole world turned upside down. During 10 nights, he slept in his car, which made me wonder if he was seeing someone else. The truth, though, was much worse.
Eric wasn’t acting like himself. He was always there for our family and kept things calm. Fears of cheating were caused by his sudden need for alone time. I suggested that he sleep in the pool house or the guest room, but he insisted on staying in his car.
Every night, Eric would leave after dinner and come back before dawn, looking very tired. His vague answers made me feel even more anxious. I started to picture a different life for him, one where he was with someone else.
I chose to follow him because I needed answers badly. I was way behind, and I felt like a character in a soap show. But what I found was a surprise. Erik stopped his car under a tree in the neighbourhood park and set up his blanket and pillow there by himself.
I watched from afar for several nights, not understanding what was going on. He doesn’t have to sleep in his car. The story got stranger.
I talked to him about it on the tenth night. When I tapped on the window, Eric’s shocked face turned to one of relief. When I got into the passenger seat, my feelings came out in a torrent. “What’s going on?” Are you with someone else?”
It was clear that Eric was tired. “No one else is involved,” he said to comfort her. “I’ve been recording bedtime stories for the kids.” He pulled out a stack of books and recording gear.
However, why the secret? Eric’s hands shook as he told her the terrible news: she had a tumour, cancer, and a very bad outlook. He wanted our children to remember him by leaving something behind.
My world fell apart. The next few months were filled with doctor’s visits, treatments, and quality time spent together. I was impressed by Eric’s determination.
Even though he was getting worse, Eric promised to keep fighting. “I’ll try for as long as I can.” When he died, there was an unbearable quiet.
I found comfort in the tapes for days after the funeral. Erik’s steady, warm voice filled the room. In his last letter, he told our story, which was a fairy tale about love and strength.
He said, “You were my fairy tale.” “Because of you, my everyday life became extraordinary.” Even though I can’t be with you anymore, your fairy tale must go on.”
When I feel hopeless, I play Eric’s voice over and over again, and his words give me strength. His memory shows how much we love him and how strong we are when we stick together.
