At twenty-nine, I was still grieving the loss of my mother. To try to make sense of that pain, I had been volunteering at a hospital for nearly a year. That was where I met Thomas, a seventy-two-year-old man suffering from severe heart failure.
Despite his fragile condition, Thomas always smiled. We began talking regularly, and over time, I looked forward to our conversations just as eagerly as he did.
One afternoon, he took my hand and asked me:
— Marry me, Sarah.
At first, I thought he was joking.
— Thomas, you’re seriously ill. We barely know each other.
He looked at me calmly.
— I don’t want to spend my final days as just another patient. I want to leave this world knowing that someone truly chose me.
Two days later, we got married at the hospital, with the help of a chaplain. I was wearing a simple yellow sweater, and we didn’t even have rings. Thomas then slipped the tab from a can onto my finger.
That was our wedding. For the next seven days, I stayed by his side. I held his hand, talked to him, and promised him that I would never forget him.
Then his heart stopped.
After his death, I remained alone in his room, devastated by the emptiness he had left behind. A few hours later, an elderly man entered.
— Sarah? I’m Thomas’s lawyer.
He was carrying a green backpack, which he handed to me.
— Thomas left this for you.
I took it, intrigued by its weight.
— What’s inside?
The lawyer hesitated before answering:
— Thomas wasn’t exactly the man you thought you knew.
My heart tightened.
— What do you mean?
He lowered his eyes toward the backpack.
— He wanted you to discover the truth.
I stared at the backpack for a few seconds. Just seven days after our wedding, I suddenly realized something disturbing 😮😮😮.
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When I opened the first envelope, I found a letter written in Thomas’s own handwriting.
“Sarah, if you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer here. I’m sorry for dragging you into this story, but I didn’t have much time left.”
I continued reading, my heart heavy. Thomas explained that he had known for several months that his illness was incurable. But he had also discovered that someone close to him was trying to get their hands on his savings and certain important documents.
He didn’t want to die without protecting what he had built.
I looked at the lawyer.
— Then why did he marry me?
He simply replied:
— Because he trusted you.
I lowered my eyes to the backpack.
At the bottom, I found a small key attached to a tag bearing an address.
— What is this?
— A safe-deposit box.
A few hours later, we were standing in front of a bank. The key opened a safe-deposit box in Thomas’s name.
Inside, there was no money or jewelry. Only files. I opened them one by one and found bank statements, contracts, and several photographs. Then I found a document that made me freeze.
My name was written on it. But the date was from before we had met.
— How is that possible?
The lawyer looked at me seriously.
— Thomas already knew you.
I felt my heart begin to race.
— How?
He placed one final envelope in front of me.
— Read this. You’ll understand why he asked you to marry him.
I opened the envelope with trembling hands. And after reading the first few lines, I realized that our meeting at the hospital might not have been a coincidence at all.
