Still, I got dressed, drove to the theater, bought one ticket, and told myself I was doing something meaningful—something for her.
I found our row. I sat in my seat.
And for a moment, I left hers empty… before placing my coat there, as if saving it.
That’s when the young man appeared.
Mid-twenties. Nervous.
He hesitated, then asked, “Are you… David?”
I nodded.
He sat down—in Gloria’s seat.
Then he pulled out an envelope.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Your wife asked me to give you this today.”
My name was written on the front.
In Gloria’s handwriting.
I knew that handwriting better than my own.
Inside was a letter.
It began:
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