**The Secret of the Lost Letter**
Saying goodbye to Thomas as he left for his military service, Veronica promised to write him letters. Even though they could just call each other, she was determined to keep her word.
«Tom, I won’t write often, but I will,» she said. «And you must promise to write back.»
«Of course,» he replied, his voice heavy. The thought of leaving her alone unsettled him—especially with her at university, where she’d be surrounded by other lads.
Veronica kept her promise, though her letters were sporadic. Thomas replied when he could, and occasionally, they spoke on the phone. Their love story was ordinary—childhood friends who grew up in the same village, attended the same school, and fell in love. She saw him off with a vow to wait. At the time, she truly believed they’d be happy together. But then, everything changed.
University life in Manchester swept her away. She only returned to her village during breaks, sometimes weekends. The city was full of new friends, new distractions, a whole new world. Without realising, she fell for her classmate, Sebastian—a well-off city boy who charmed her effortlessly. The letters to Thomas stopped. She barely answered his calls, and when she did, her voice lacked warmth.
Finally, she mustered the courage to write. A single letter, confessing she’d fallen for someone else. She apologised, wished him happiness—without her—and sealed it with guilt.
«Once Thomas reads this, he’ll hate me forever,» she thought as she posted it.
When Veronica visited home during term break, her mother knocked on her bedroom door.
«Love, you’ve got a visitor.»
«Who?» she asked, barely looking up from her phone.
«Thomas.»
«Mum, tell him I’m not here.»
«I already told him you are. I won’t lie for you. Go on, talk to him.»
Veronica wasn’t ready. Hadn’t she explained everything in that letter? Yet Thomas greeted her warmly, kissed her cheek, and asked her for a walk.
«Come on, let’s go down to the river—our spot. Got a lot to tell you.» He took her hand before she could protest.
*Fine*, she thought. *One last talk. Clear the air.*
Except—they never did. Oddly, Thomas never mentioned the letter. They wandered familiar paths, swapping stories of their lives apart. He spoke eagerly about army life, and she listened. Not once did he bring up her confession.
At first, she considered raising it herself, but the moment never felt right. Being with him was easy, comfortable—like slipping back into old rhythms. She’d tell him another time.
The next morning, he returned.
«Get dressed. We’re going fishing. Already packed everything in the sidecar.»
She couldn’t say no. His enthusiasm was infectious.
«Alright, just give me a minute.»
She surprised herself by agreeing so quickly. *I’ll humour him for a bit, then head home*, she reasoned.
They stayed out till evening, lost in the quiet of the countryside. Thomas caught fish and cooked a stew so delicious she swore she’d never tasted better. He told stories—knew everything about the land. She listened, realising for the first time how little she’d explored the place she grew up. The thought flickered—*maybe I don’t want city life after all*—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
For a week, Thomas came by every day. They walked, talked, laughed. Then came her birthday. Sebastian had called—she’d spoken to him, though never in front of Thomas. She planned to spend the day in Manchester. Thomas looked crestfallen but didn’t press.
On the morning of her birthday, he arrived early, roses in hand.
«Happy birthday, Ronnie.» He kissed her cheek. «Let me walk you to the bus.»
Sebastian met her with an even grander bouquet—and a brand-new car.
«Thank you! These are gorgeous!»
«Nothing’s too good for you. But wait—there’s more.» He pulled a small box from the glove compartment. «For you.»
An iPhone. The latest model. She flushed with discomfort.
«Seb, this is too much!»
«Relax, it’s just a phone. Now, come on—restaurant’s booked. The lads are waiting.»
The moment they stepped inside, the illusion shattered. His friends congratulated *him*—on the car, his father’s latest business venture. They spoke of investments, connections, envy dripping from every word. Veronica sipped champagne, ignored, bored.
Her thoughts drifted to Thomas. He’d never showered her with gifts, but he *knew* her—her favourite meal, her dreams, the flowers she loved. With Sebastian, she was just an accessory.
*I’ve made a terrible mistake.*
Leaving the phone on the table, she slipped out unnoticed. On the bus home, Sebastian called.
«Ronnie, where’d you go?»
«I’m going home. We’re done, Seb. Sorry.» She hung up. He didn’t call back.
All the way, she rehearsed what to tell Thomas. But when she saw him, words failed her.
«Tom, we need to talk.»
«Alright.» He smiled. «What’s on your mind?»
«I don’t know if you can forgive me, but—»
«Forgive you? For what?»
«That last letter I sent.»
«Letter?» He frowned. «You just stopped writing. I thought they got lost—or you were too busy.» He pulled her close. «Doesn’t matter now. We’re here, yeah? No more miles between us.»
She exhaled. «Yeah.»
By summer’s end, they married. Veronica switched to part-time studies. His parents helped them buy a house in the nearest town. A son came first; a daughter soon followed. They were happy.
Years later, packing for their move, Veronica found a plastic bag tucked in the wardrobe. Inside—every letter she’d ever sent him. Smiling, she unfolded the first, laughing at her younger self’s words.
Then she saw *that* letter—the one meant to end them.
*So that’s why he never mentioned it.*
She tucked it back, deciding to keep the secret. Her love for him had only grown. They had a family, a home—everything she’d ever wanted.
Some truths were better left lost.