As Margaret grew older, she carried a secret that had long weighed on her heart. In her youth, she loved Thomas — a simple man, kind, and full of dreams of building a small home where they could live together and raise a family. But Margaret chose another path. She left for the city, abandoning Thomas and the dreams they once shared.

Thomas sent letters every month. At first, Margaret read them. But eventually, she stopped opening even a single one, thinking it would be easier to forget if she never looked back. The envelopes piled up in a box — reminders of the man she left behind.

Fifty-three years passed without a single reply from her. Margaret married, had children, and grew old. Yet her conscience never let her rest. What had happened to Thomas? Was he still angry? Was he even alive?

One autumn afternoon, leaning on her cane with trembling hands, Margaret traveled back to the town of her youth. When she reached Thomas’s old home, her heart pounded as though she were a young girl again.

But Thomas was not at the door. There was no smile. No open arms waiting to forgive.

Instead, she was met by a house — broken, decayed, and silent. The windows shattered, the roof caved in, and wild grass choked the yard.

Inside, the air was thick with dust. On a small table lay a bundle of letters tied together with string. The handwriting was familiar — Thomas’s. The strokes weaker now, but still filled with love. Every single one addressed to her. He had never stopped writing.

Margaret collapsed to the floor, sobbing as tears streamed down her wrinkled face. Across the decades, Thomas had kept his promise to love her, even though she had never returned.

Then she noticed something: an old photograph on top of a worn cabinet. It was Thomas, smiling, with a woman and two children. On the back, written in faded ink:
“My family — but my heart will always belong to Margaret.”

Her chest tightened. Thomas had built a family of his own, but his love for her had never disappeared. And now, it was too late for her to ask for forgiveness.

Because sometimes, love can wait a lifetime… but time itself never waits.

Margaret’s hands shook as she clutched the old photo. Thomas’s face looked both familiar and strange — the same eyes that once dreamed with her, now smiling yet shadowed by a sorrow he could not hide. The children in the picture, likely his, beamed happily at the camera. But the words on the back cut like a knife:
“My family — but my heart will always belong to Margaret.”

She didn’t notice her cane fall with a loud thud against the wooden floor. She wept, not only for Thomas, but for her own choices. For every letter left unread, for every moment she turned away from a love that had waited until the very end.

She walked to the table, untied the bundle of letters, and caressed each envelope with trembling fingers. She read the first one:

“My dearest Margaret, another month has passed. I hope one day you’ll open one of my letters. I don’t know where you are, but I want you to know that I still love you…”

As she read each word, the years seemed to melt away. There was Thomas’s voice — honest, hopeful, overflowing with a love that never faded. But every line pierced her with the weight of regret.

The Visit
Behind the house, Margaret found a small gravestone standing among the overgrown weeds. It read:

“Thomas Adeyemi (1943–2005). A father, husband, and friend — and a heart that loved without end.”

Margaret’s world collapsed. She knelt down, tracing the cold stone with her hand, whispering over and over:
—“Forgive me, Thomas. Even if it’s too late, I hope you can hear me. I loved you too, but I chose to run. And now, all I can do is love you in memory.”

The Return Home with a Lesson
The next day, Margaret returned to the city, carrying a box filled with letters and photographs. She didn’t know how to explain to her own family the heavy heart she now bore, but she knew there was one lesson she had to share:

That when love is true, it must not be ignored. That time cannot be reclaimed, and the letters left unread may become the greatest reminders of regret.

Often, she was seen sitting on her porch, holding one of Thomas’s letters. Whenever her grandchildren asked why she cried, she would always reply:

—“Child, when someone truly loves you, don’t put it off. Don’t let love become just letters left in a box. Because not everyone gets a second chance.”

Epilogue
As the years went by, Margaret and Thomas’s story became a quiet legend in their town. A reminder that some loves can wait more than half a century, but some hearts learn too late.

And whenever someone visited Thomas’s old home, they would find the letters preserved in a box on the table, with a single word engraved on it:

“Awaited.”

For that was what Thomas truly left behind — not just letters, but the memory of a love that never gave up, even as time slipped away.