Cora woke up that Valentine’s Day unusually cheerful. As she tidied the living room, she found herself humming under her breath, feeling warm and light. She’d planned something special—nothing extravagant, just thoughtful. A little celebration to remind Eric that love still lived in the corners of their busy, stressful lives.

She wore a red dress. It wasn’t new. In fact, it was the same one Eric had gifted her for their first anniversary. It didn’t matter that it was slightly faded. It mattered that it still fit, still held memories.

The table was set with care: a heart-shaped red velvet cheesecake, Eric’s favorite, a few simple dishes she’d made with whatever they had in the kitchen, and a modest gift box wrapped with a ribbon she’d found tucked in the back of the junk drawer. She even lit candles and hung fairy lights. A cozy, imperfect kind of romantic.

When the doorbell rang, she grinned, already imagining the way Eric’s face would light up.

But it didn’t.

He stepped in, took one sweeping look around the room, and frowned. “What on Earth is all this? Are we teenagers now?”

Cora’s heart fell. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” she said softly. “I just wanted to—”

He cut her off, flicking the light switch on. “You’ve wasted money on this nonsense?”

“I didn’t spend much. Just a few ingredients. And I wore the dress you—”

“This? You call this food?” He tasted the spaghetti and spat it out. “Is that soap in the sauce?”

Cora flinched. “Eric, please, the babies are asleep—”

“Of course they are. All you do is sit here all day playing house while I break my back working. And now you want applause for lighting candles and burning spaghetti?”

He spotted the gift, picked it up, and tossed it aside. “A gift? Really? What am I, twelve?”

Her throat burned. “You’re being cruel.”

He didn’t stop. “Cruel? You should see the kitchen. Piled with dirty dishes while you were setting up this… charade.”

She stormed to the kids’ room, not trusting herself to respond. The triplets had woken up, crying softly. She realized then they were out of diapers.

She returned to the living room, her jaw tight. “I’m going to the store,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Watch the kids.”

“Of course. Run off now. Add that to your long list of accomplishments.”

She slammed the door behind her.

Time passed. The crying didn’t stop. Eric paced, growing more irritated. “Where the hell is she?”

When the doorbell rang again, he opened it ready to snap.

It was a police officer.

“Are you Mr. Hastings?” he asked quietly.

Eric nodded, confused.

“I’m sorry… there was an accident. A car. Your wife… she didn’t make it.”

The words didn’t sink in at first. Eric just stared at the officer’s mouth, as if the sentence would change. But it didn’t.

That night, he stood alone in the living room, surrounded by flickering candles and fairy lights, the table still set for two.

His eyes fell on the gift box he’d tossed aside. He picked it up, hands trembling, and unwrapped it.

Inside, he found a letter and two plane tickets.

“To the love of my life, Eric,

Happy Valentine’s Day, honey!! Guess what—I got a job! I know how hard you’ve been working and how tired you’ve been. I wanted to help. Mrs. Nelson offered to watch the babies during the day. So now you can rest a little.

But that’s not all—I used my first paycheck to book us a vacation. Just the two of us. Hawaii! You always said you wanted to see the ocean.

There’s more, but I’ll save the rest for the trip. I love you.”

Eric sat down, gripping the letter as his body shook with silent sobs.

He never went to Hawaii. Never opened the wine. Never lit candles again.

He raised their children with quiet dedication, and every year on Valentine’s Day, he visits her grave. He reads her letter out loud. He tells her about the kids, about work, about the things he wishes he’d said.

And when no one’s listening, he whispers the words he didn’t say in time:
“I’m sorry. I see it now. I see you.”