Thread:Ralf Hat/@comment-27621300-20160206180832/@comment-24491361-20160207151446

Michaela sank down onto the edge of the bed staring at the envelope clutched in her hand. There was no address on the envelope. It simply bore the name Brendan written in a delicate and feminine hand. She had no desire to know what the letter said, but now that she knew of its existence she could not leave it unread. Brendan was her husband’s name. They had been married for almost three years now, a couple for a little over five. Looking down at the letter, she remembered the early days of their relationship. Though they had never written letters to one another, there had been texts on a daily basis and emails whenever they were apart for more than one or two days. Brendan, a true gentleman, had seen Michaela home safely after every date. Not once did he pressure her to invite him inside. When he returned to his own apartment, he would send her a text to thank her for a wonderful evening, or to say that he missed her already. For her part, Michaela would text Brendan whenever something reminded her of him. It could be anything from a song on the radio to seeing a copy of his favorite newspaper laying on a table somewhere.