After the concert, I packed up everything in preparation for the move.My final performance here had been a huge success, and I’d accepted a teaching position at Berklee College of Music.Once I left the country, I wouldn’t be coming back.I stood in the middle of the empty apartment, suitcase in hand. Just as I was about to leave, I spotted the yellowed envelope by the door.It had been trampled so badly that it was almost unrecognizable.I sighed, bent down, and picked it up.In the end, I opened it.Claire’s neat, elegant handwriting filled the page.‘Ethan,Or maybe I should call you my husband.I don’t know if I have the right to call you that, or if the future me will ever have the chance.After you left, I was in a car accident. I was unconscious for a very long time, and while I was out, I think I met you at thirty.You were mature, gentle, and refined. We were married and had a beautiful family with a child of our own.The house was lovely, warm, and filled with e
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