On Valentine’s Day, Cora was glowing. She had spent the entire morning humming to herself, checking off items on her carefully crafted to-do list. She wore the red dress Eric had given her years ago for their first anniversary, now a little dated but still special. She didn’t mind—it was a way to save money and still feel beautiful. By early evening, the dining room was glowing with fairy lights and candles. Rose petals marked a soft trail from the front door to the table set for two. At its center sat a heart-shaped red velvet cheesecake, homemade with care, alongside Eric’s favorite dishes. Next to his plate, she placed a wrapped gift box. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

But when Eric came home, instead of smiling, he stared at the setup like it was a crime scene. “What the hell is all this?” he snapped. “Are we teenagers now? What are you thinking, wasting money on this nonsense?”

Cora’s smile faltered. “It didn’t cost much,” she said gently, trying to usher him to the table. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I just wanted to surprise you.”

He barely let her finish before exploding. “I work nonstop to keep this family afloat, and this is what I come home to? You can’t even keep the kitchen clean!”

He flung the gift box to the floor, then spat out his first bite of dinner. “This tastes awful! What’s wrong with the sauce?”

“You woke the babies,” Cora said quietly, blinking back tears.

“And that’s my fault too, huh?” he snapped. “You’re home all day and still can’t do anything right. This place is a mess!”

Cora had enough. “We’re out of diapers,” she said, shaking with frustration. “So I’m going to get some. Watch the kids.”

She stormed out before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her.

Eric stayed behind, pacing and muttering. The triplets were crying, and he was too angry to comfort them. Minutes turned into an hour. Cora didn’t return. Irritated, he headed to the living room to call her, just as the doorbell rang.

He opened the door expecting to scold her. Instead, a police officer stood there.

“Are you Mr. Carlisle?” the officer asked.

“Yes…”

“I’m sorry to inform you,” he said, voice heavy with regret, “but your wife was involved in a car accident. She didn’t make it. I need you to come with me to identify her body.”

The world shifted. Everything blurred. Eric felt like the floor disappeared beneath him. Somehow, he managed to call their neighbor, Mrs. Nelson, to watch the kids before following the officer.

At the morgue, one look at Cora’s pale, lifeless face shattered him completely. He wept like a child. He hadn’t apologized. He hadn’t said thank you. He hadn’t even opened her gift.

The next day, after the funeral, Eric came home to the same candlelit table. Nothing had changed, but everything had. His eyes fell on the small box she had wrapped with so much love. With trembling hands, he unwrapped it.

Inside, he found two plane tickets to Hawaii. Tucked between them was a letter.

To the love of my life, Eric,

Happy Valentine’s Day! Guess who got a job this week? I didn’t tell you yet—I wanted it to be a surprise. I know how tired you are working so hard for us, and I want to help. Mrs. Nelson agreed to watch the babies while I work, so we’re covered there.

And the tickets? They’re for our first real vacation in years. Just the two of us. We deserve this, don’t you think? There’s more to the surprise, but you’ll find out later…

Love always,
Cora

Eric sank to the floor, sobbing. She’d been planning a new beginning, not just for herself but for both of them. A gesture of love, met with cruelty. And now she was gone.

From that day on, Eric’s life was never the same. He never remarried. He devoted himself entirely to raising the triplets, pouring every ounce of effort into being both father and mother. But every Valentine’s Day, he’d go to Cora’s grave. He’d sit with her for hours, whispering stories, regrets, and apologies into the wind, clinging to the memory of the woman who had loved him even when he didn’t deserve it.

Love, when taken for granted, can vanish in an instant. And sometimes, the deepest wounds aren’t left by loss—but by words we can never take back.