At eighteen, I made a life-altering choice by marrying the charming and witty Daniel, despite my wealthy father’s disapproval. He had exclaimed, “If you marry that low-life, Margaret, don’t expect anything from me!” and warned, “You’ll soon realize what love is when you find yourself in a cramped, roach-infested one-bedroom flat!”
Yet, I dismissed his words. I was certain that I wouldn’t regret my love for Daniel. Our tiny apartment felt romantic at first (no bugs, just a lack of space). Daniel took a job at the post office, and I found work as a receptionist at a large hotel. When I urged him to seek a higher-paying job, he reassured me, saying, “Job security, my love.”
“I need to know there’s a pension for us when we’re old!” I understood Daniel’s desire for stability. After witnessing his father’s tragic death in a construction accident, leaving his mother to struggle with minimal social support, he was determined not to replicate that experience. Daniel believed that a post office job would provide the security we needed. However, with two children to raise, our combined incomes were barely sufficient. We were careful with our spending, yet we often found ourselves with little left to save.
Once our children were grown and had established their own lives—our son in Alaska and our daughter in Brazil—we felt lost. Around this time, my father passed away, and it seemed that neither time nor my happiness had softened his heart. He left his considerable fortune to my youngest brother, who showed no remorse.
Daniel was devastated. “This is what loving me has cost you, Margaret! The life you truly deserved!” he lamented. I insisted, “I wouldn’t trade our life together for all the money in the world!” Yet, Daniel grew silent and withdrawn, making me question whether he still loved me after thirty-eight years of marriage.
He began to work overtime, claiming, “This new overnight mail service needs sorting 24/7.” But when he came home in the early hours, he smelled different—like lilies. I had never liked that scent; it reminded me of my paternal grandmother, who I had always found unpleasant. To my dismay, he only initiated intimacy on weekends.
I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but nothing changed. Daniel’s lily scent persisted, he returned home each night, but our joint account dwindled. Two years passed, and one day, when I confronted him about it, he exploded in anger. “Do I need to explain my spending to you? I earned this money; it’s mine!”
I silently grieved every night, feeling his back turned to me in the bed where we had created our children. Our ‘overtime’ left little room for addressing the challenges that strained our marriage. Conversations about our retirement plans became scarce, and he spent most of his time in the garage, engaged in mysterious activities.
I went from being the happiest woman alive to feeling utterly desolate. My dreams seemed to vanish, and I started to question if Daniel had ever truly loved me. Just after our fiftieth wedding anniversary, Daniel suffered a heart attack. Even before the doctor’s words, I sensed the gravity of the situation.
“I think you should prepare for the worst, Mrs. Hernandez,” he said gently. “Your husband’s heart is severely compromised. A transplant is the only option at his age.” “But he’s only sixty-nine!” I exclaimed. “He promised he would retire.” That night, I called our children, and they rushed to New York with our only granddaughter, Anna, to say their farewells.
Two weeks later, after Daniel’s passing, he held my hand quietly while reminiscing with our children and granddaughter. On his final day, he whispered, “Margaret, I love you, only you, I always have…” These words offered little solace after years of doubt and anguish.
After the burial, our children quickly returned to their own lives, but Anna remained behind to help me cope with my emptiness. The day after they left, I resolved to rid myself of the past. With Anna’s help, I packed up Daniel’s belongings into boxes for Goodwill.
As I sealed the last box, the scent of flowers engulfed me, triggering a scream as I toppled the box, spilling its carefully folded contents. With Anna’s support, my emotions spilled forth. “He’s been cheating on me for twelve years, coming to bed smelling of another woman,” I cried. “And his last words were a lie!”
Crying and sharing my pain brought me some relief, and Anna suggested we clear out Daniel’s garage, the last remnant of my sorrow. While sorting through years of clutter, Anna discovered an antique suitcase with rusted locks in a corner. She chose to open it, even though she had intended to discard it because it felt heavy. The suitcase opened easily with a hammer and a wrench.
“Grandma…” Anna gasped. “Come here!” I hurried to her side, dropping the tin of nails I had been organizing. The suitcase revealed an old journal and neatly wrapped bundles of $20 bills. “Where did this come from?” I gasped. “That’s a lot of money!” Anna opened the journal. “You need to read this, Grandma. It looks like he started saving every penny after you got married.
“This entry is from twelve years ago: ‘Today, I began working the night shift as a sewer cleaner for the NYC sanitation department. It’s tough work, but it pays well, and I want to ensure Margaret has a secure future. Her father was right—I’m no winner. I’m determined to give her back at least some of what I took from her.’
“I told Margaret I sorted the overnight mail and showered before returning home because I didn’t want her to find out. I refuse to let that filth into our house.’” Tears streamed down my face as Anna continued reading about Daniel’s hidden life. “Every month, Gran, he records what he puts in the suitcase… it totals around $300,000.”
Peering into the worn suitcase, I finally saw tangible proof of Daniel’s unwavering commitment to me and his willingness to sacrifice everything for my sake. “Oh, Daniel,” I whispered. “I wasted so much time in bitterness.” In those moments of doubt, I had assumed he was unfaithful while he was working the toughest job. “Daniel, I love you,” I said, clutching the journal close to my heart. “I regret doubting your love.”