The Unfulfilled Wedding
While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake.
He once told me it was his most precious possession.
But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out.
There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions.
He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny.
The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college.
Things started to make sense.
I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me.
That was because he already had someone he liked.
I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call.
"Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."