Chapter 22
On the day Graham was discharged, his adjutant, Frank, came to pick him up.
He slipped into his old military uniform, faded from countless washes but still sharply tailored.
His frame remained tall and unyielding, yet the hollows beneath his brow and the chill in his eyes betrayed a man worn thin by grief.
He didn’t return to the Crestwood Suites. Instead, he told Frank to drive straight to Evelyn’s apartment building.
He knew this would be the last time.
Evelyn had just returned from work, carrying a bag of trash toward the dumpster downstairs.
When she spotted the familiar Jeep and the gaunt, pale figure of Graham stepping out, her steps faltered. Her eyes instantly formed a guarded wall, wary and unyielding.
Graham approached slowly, his steps hesitant. He stopped a few paces away, keeping his distance.
From the pocket of his uniform, he pulled out a manila envelope and held it toward her in silence. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, flat, and hollow, as if life itself had been drained:
“Evelyn.”
Her name caught in his throat, rough and strained.
“I’m sorry.”
He paused, gathering the strength to continue.
“I was blind… chasing shadows when I should have seen you. I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
His gaze fell to the envelope. “This–the deed to our old house, my savings–it’s yours. It always should have been. I know it doesn’t mean much to you…”
He lifted his eyes to hers, a storm of regret, pain, and lingering affection flickering in his gaze, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her face.
“…but please, let me do this one thing. Let me leave with a shred of peace.”
Evelyn didn’t take the envelope. She watched him quietly, her gaze calm, free of anger or
resentment–just a deep, unshakable serenity born of surviving unbearable pain.
That look pierced Graham, snuffing out the last ember of hope in his chest.
Chapter 22
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He lowered his hand and set the envelope gently on the nearby windowsill. Then he straightened, wincing as the movement tugged at the wounds along his back.
He met her gaze, his voice steady and deliberate. “I’ve been reassigned to Frosthaven Base. I won’t… come back to trouble you.”
His eyes drifted past her, lingering on the modest but warm apartment behind her, before returning to her face. A faint tremor broke through his voice. “I wish you and Nathan Reed every happiness.”
With that, he stepped back, raised his right hand, and gave her a salute–crisp, heavy, and final.
The dying sunlight bathed his pale face and worn uniform, casting a somber golden glow, framing him in quiet sorrow.
This salute was for the love he’d lost, the wrongs he could never undo, and for her–finally free to
start anew.
Then, he turned sharply and walked away. One step, two steps… toward the Jeep. His posture remained rigid, yet his back carried the weight of deep, unshakable loneliness.
This was all he could give his final act of love and regret: setting her free, stepping out of her life
for good. Strangers from now on, never to cross paths again.
Evelyn stood frozen, watching his figure disappear behind the car door. She watched the Jeep
start, pull away, and vanish around the alley’s corner, stirring a faint cloud of dust.
She stood there for a long time, silent and still.
The sky darkened. Neighboring lights flickered on, accompanied by the clatter of pans and calls
for kids to come eat.
Only then did she lower her gaze to the bulky manila envelope on the windowsill. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over its surface, but she didn’t open it.
Then, she picked it up and turned back toward her apartment.
A few days later, that same envelope appeared, unopened, on the desk of a local nonprofit education organization. The donor’s name was left blank.
Chapter 22
