Sophie sat cross-legged on her grandfather’s bed, the afternoon sunlight casting warm golden streaks across the room. The air smelled of old books and peppermint tea, a scent she had come to love. With her fingers tracing the embossed cover of The Count of Monte Cristo, she looked up at her grandfather, who leaned back against his pillows with a peaceful expression.
“Are you ready, Grandpa?” she asked eagerly.
Grandpa Walter’s face crinkled into a warm smile. “Always ready for an adventure, my little bookworm. I used to read to you, and now you read to me. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”
Sophie grinned. “And I love doing it, Grandpa.”
At twelve years old, Sophie had become the keeper of their tradition. Ever since Walter lost his eyesight four years ago, their roles had reversed. He had once brought stories to life for her; now, she did the same for him. Every afternoon after school, while her parents were at work, she curled up by his side and read for hours.
She opened the book and found their last reading spot. “You know, Grandpa,” she said thoughtfully, “Dantès spent years planning his revenge… but in the end, he let some of them go. Some people never even said sorry. Doesn’t that make it unfair?”
Grandpa Walter considered this. “Ah, that is the question, isn’t it? He thought revenge would bring him peace, but in the end, it was forgiveness that set him free.”
“But it wasn’t fair,” Sophie insisted.
“Sometimes, letting go isn’t about fairness,” Walter sighed. “It’s about choosing peace over the past. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way.”
Sophie noticed the faraway look in his eyes. She wanted to ask what he meant, but before she could, he patted her hand. “You know, Sophie, I think we’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo too many times. Why don’t we find something new? Check the closet. There are books there we haven’t explored yet.”
Excited for a new story, Sophie jumped off the bed and tugged open the closet. Inside, she found boxes labeled in her grandmother’s neat handwriting. As she moved a box of winter clothes, something caught her eye—a faded red book wedged between two shoeboxes. Covered in dust, it looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.
She carefully pulled it free, blew away the dust, and examined the worn cover. The gold lettering had nearly faded away.
“Did you find something?” Grandpa Walter asked.
“A book I’ve never seen before,” Sophie replied, settling back on the bed. “The cover’s red, but it’s really old. I can’t read the title anymore.”
She placed it in his hands. His fingers traced the cover, following the embossed patterns. Then his face changed—a tightening around his mouth, a furrow between his brows.
“Grandpa? Do you know this book?”
His hands trembled slightly. “I never read this one,” he said softly. “It was a gift… from my first love, sixty years ago. But I couldn’t bear to open it.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Your first love? Before Grandma?”
“Yes. Long before I met your grandmother.” His fingers continued to trace the cover. “Her name was Margaret.”
“Can I read it to you now?” Sophie asked, curiosity burning bright.
Walter hesitated. Then, finally, he nodded. “I suppose it’s time.”
Sophie carefully opened the book. The pages were yellowed but intact, the words still clear. “It’s called Whispers in the Garden,” she read.
As she began, the story unfolded: a tale of two young lovers separated by circumstance, their love preserved only in memory. Walter listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
Then, as she turned a page, something unexpected happened.
A letter slid out from between the pages, landing in Sophie’s lap.
She frowned and picked it up. “Grandpa, there’s a letter inside this book!”
Walter’s breath caught. “That… that can’t be.” He reached out, his fingers trembling. “A letter? Please, Sophie… read it to me.”
Sophie carefully opened the brittle envelope and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was elegant, slanting slightly to the right. She began to read:
My dearest Walter,
I hope you can forgive me for being such a coward, for not telling you the whole truth when I left. I couldn’t bear to see the pity in your eyes.
When I said I was leaving for school in New York, that was only half the story. The doctors had already told me that I was losing my sight, and nothing could stop it.
I couldn’t let you tie your future to someone who would only hold you back. So I walked away before you could see me fade. I told myself it was love that made me leave, and perhaps it was—a selfish kind of love that couldn’t face watching you sacrifice your dreams for me.
I’ve thought of you every day since. I wonder if you still read those poetry books we loved, if you still walk in the park where we first met. I wonder if you hate me now.
I’m sorry, Walter. Not for loving you, but for not being brave enough to love you honestly.
Forever yours, Margaret.
Sophie’s voice trembled as she finished. Grandpa was silent for a long time. Then his shoulders began to shake. He was crying.
“She was going blind,” he whispered. “All these years, I thought she’d found someone else. Someone better.”
“I’m so sorry, Grandpa,” Sophie said, reaching for his hand.
He squeezed her fingers. “Sixty years,” he murmured. “Sixty years believing a lie.”
“Grandpa, there’s a return address on the letter,” Sophie said hesitantly. “Maybe… maybe we can find Margaret.”
Walter let out a heavy sigh. “After all these years? I don’t know, Sophie.”
But Sophie wasn’t ready to give up. That evening, she told her parents everything. Together, they tracked the old address to a care facility where Margaret now lived.
The following Saturday, they took Grandpa Walter to see her. His hands clutched the letter as they guided him inside, his heart pounding so hard Sophie could feel it when she held his arm.
“What if she doesn’t remember me?” he whispered.
“She will,” Sophie assured him, though her stomach twisted with nerves.
A nurse led them to a sunlit room where an elderly woman sat by the window. Her silver hair was pulled back neatly, her unseeing eyes focused on nothing.
When Grandpa spoke her name, she gasped. “Walter?”
“Margaret,” he breathed, his voice breaking. “Is it really you?”
They talked for hours, their hands finding each other, their love unchanged by time. As they sat together, lost in a world only they could understand, Sophie realized something: some love stories never truly end.
They just wait for the right moment to continue.
