{"id":4912,"date":"2026-06-09T01:38:14","date_gmt":"2026-06-09T01:38:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/?p=4912"},"modified":"2026-06-09T01:38:14","modified_gmt":"2026-06-09T01:38:14","slug":"part2-at-65-years-old-she-finally-opened-the-bank-envelope-her-ex-husband-had-left-for-her","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/?p=4912","title":{"rendered":"Part2: At 65 years old, she finally opened the bank envelope her ex-husband had left for her."},"content":{"rendered":"
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Her fingers trembled lightly. \u201cYou idiot,\u201d she whispered. A weak smile appeared through her tears. Because even now, even standing beside his grave\u2014Richard still felt close enough to argue with. Sarah removed the bank card next. The scratched words on the back caught faint sunlight. \u201cI\u2019m sorry for the hallway.\u201d She traced the letters slowly with her thumb. \u201cYou should\u2019ve just told me,\u201d she whispered. The sentence disappeared softly into the wind. No anger remained in it now. Only sadness. Only the unbearable knowledge that honesty would have hurt less than silence in the end. Behind her, Emily quietly wiped tears from her face while Daniel stared toward the trees. Sarah looked back down at the grave. For several seconds she said nothing. Then finally: \u201cI would\u2019ve stayed.\u201d The confession broke something open inside her chest. Because it was true. No matter the illness. No matter the fear. No matter how painful it became. She would have stayed. And somewhere deep down\u2014Richard knew that. That was exactly why he left. Tears slipped down Sarah\u2019s face quietly. Not violent grief anymore. Just mourning. Pure and exhausted. \u201cYou didn\u2019t get to decide that for me,\u201d she whispered. The wind moved through the cemetery again. Leaves rustled overhead softly like distant applause. Sarah laughed once through tears. \u201cYou know what\u2019s awful?\u201d Her voice shook. \u201cI understand why you did it now.\u201d That was the cruelest part. Understanding did not erase the damage. It only made the damage lonelier. For a long while, she simply sat there beside him. Two old people finally sharing silence honestly for the first time in years. Eventually Daniel approached quietly from behind. \u201cMom?\u201d Sarah looked up weakly. \u201cWe should probably go soon. It\u2019s getting colder.\u201d She nodded slowly. Then before standing, she touched the headstone one last time. Cold stone beneath warm fingertips. And finally\u2014very softly\u2014Sarah said the thing Richard had waited five years to hear. \u201cI forgive you.\u201d The words vanished into the wind almost immediately. But somehow\u2014for the first time since the hallway\u2014the silence between them no longer felt empty.<\/p>\n

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Part 22 \u2014 \u201cYour Father Planned For Christmas\u201d
\nThree days after visiting the cemetery, Sarah finally returned to the bank alone. The city had begun warming slightly after the rain-heavy week. Patches of sunlight appeared between clouds as buses groaned through downtown traffic and pedestrians hurried along sidewalks carrying coffees and grocery bags. Ordinary life. It felt strange now. Like the world had continued normally while her entire understanding of the past quietly collapsed and rebuilt itself underneath it. The young teller smiled sadly when Sarah entered the branch. \u201cMrs. Carter.\u201d Sarah returned the smile gently. \u201cHello, dear.\u201d The manager came out from the office almost immediately. \u201cThere\u2019s actually something I was hoping you\u2019d come back for,\u201d she said softly. Sarah frowned slightly. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d The manager hesitated. \u201cThere were additional items included with Richard\u2019s estate instructions.\u201d Sarah\u2019s chest tightened again. Even now\u2014Richard still somehow had more to say.<\/p>\n

The manager guided her back into the same glass office. This time the room felt different. Less frightening. Still painful. Still heavy. But no longer like a place where her life ended. The manager opened a file drawer carefully. \u201cYour husband arranged several timed releases before he passed.\u201d Sarah blinked. \u201cTimed releases?\u201d The manager nodded. \u201cHe scheduled letters and small trust disbursements for family members.\u201d Sarah stared. \u201cFamily members?\u201d The manager slid several envelopes onto the desk. One labeled: Emily Carter. Another: Daniel Carter. And two smaller envelopes with her grandchildren\u2019s names written carefully across the front. Sarah covered her mouth instantly. \u201cOh Richard\u2026\u201d The manager\u2019s eyes softened. \u201cHe planned them almost a year before his death.\u201d Sarah picked up one envelope carefully. The handwriting looked slightly steadier here. Healthier. Maybe before the cancer worsened. \u201cWhat\u2019s inside?\u201d The manager smiled sadly. \u201cInstructions mostly. Small education funds for the grandchildren. Birthday letters.\u201d She paused gently. \u201cAnd Christmas gifts.\u201d Sarah looked up sharply. \u201cChristmas?\u201d The manager nodded. \u201cHe arranged yearly deposits for the grandchildren until they turn eighteen.\u201d Tears immediately filled Sarah\u2019s eyes again. Not because of the money. Because Richard had planned for a future he already knew he would never see. School birthdays. Christmas mornings. Graduations. All the ordinary moments grandparents quietly expect life to give them.<\/p>\n

Sarah looked down at Daniel\u2019s envelope. \u201cWhat does his say?\u201d The manager hesitated. \u201cI believe those are meant to remain private.\u201d Sarah nodded quickly. \u201cOf course.\u201d Still\u2014her fingers lingered on the envelope. Because she suddenly remembered something from years earlier. Daniel at sixteen. Storming through the kitchen after an argument with Richard about baseball scholarships. \u201cYou don\u2019t even care what matters to me!\u201d Richard had answered badly that night. Coldly. Proudly. But later\u2014long after Daniel slammed his bedroom door\u2014Sarah found Richard alone in the garage staring at Daniel\u2019s old Little League glove. At the time she thought it was anger. Now she knew better. The manager carefully slid one final envelope toward her. This one simply said: Sarah. No last name. Just Sarah. Her heart began beating harder immediately. \u201cAnother letter?\u201d The manager nodded softly. \u201cThis one was dated six days before his death.\u201d Sarah\u2019s fingers trembled touching the paper. The handwriting looked noticeably weaker now. Like Richard had struggled to finish even writing her name. She opened it slowly. Inside was only one page. Very short. Sarah began reading silently.<\/p>\n

\u201cSarah, I spent most of my life believing love meant protecting people from pain. I think I finally understand too late that real love is trusting someone enough to hurt beside you instead.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Sarah stopped breathing. The office blurred around her. She continued reading through tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf the children ever ask whether I loved you, please tell them this: You were the only peace I ever really had.\u201d<\/p>\n

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A tear slipped onto the paper. Then another. Outside the office window, customers moved quietly through the bank beneath bright fluorescent lights, unaware that an old man\u2019s final truths were still unfolding years after his death. At the bottom of the letter, Richard had added one final sentence. Short. Simple. Painfully him.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd tell Daniel I did care about the game. I cared about all of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 23 \u2014 \u201cHe Kept The Trophy\u201d
\nDaniel didn\u2019t open his envelope immediately. For two days, it sat untouched on the kitchen counter in Sarah\u2019s new apartment. New apartment. Even thinking the words felt strange. Not luxurious. Not enormous. Just warm. Warm floors. Working heat. Windows without leaks. The kind of place Sarah once stopped herself from even imagining. Emily visited constantly now. Partly to help unpack. Mostly because none of them seemed ready to be alone with their thoughts yet. On the second evening, rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while Sarah made tea in the kitchen. Daniel sat silently at the table staring at the envelope again. Finally Emily sighed. \u201cYou know Dad would be annoyed you\u2019re being dramatic about opening mail.\u201d Daniel laughed weakly. \u201cThat\u2019s exactly why I\u2019m avoiding it.\u201d Sarah carried three mugs over carefully. Nobody spoke for a moment. Then finally Daniel picked up the envelope. His fingers hesitated along the edge. For the first time since Richard\u2019s death became real to him, he suddenly looked young again. Not forty-two. Just somebody\u2019s son. He opened the letter slowly. Inside was a folded page and something else. Small. Metallic. Daniel frowned and tipped it into his palm. A baseball pin. Old. Worn slightly near the edges. Sarah immediately recognized it. Daniel\u2019s state championship pin from high school. The one he thought he lost years ago. Daniel stared at it silently. Then unfolded the letter. The room became very quiet as he read. At first his expression remained controlled. Then his jaw tightened. Then suddenly his eyes filled. Emily reached for his hand immediately. Daniel finally read the letter aloud in a rough voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaniel, if you\u2019re reading this, then I\u2019ve already run out of time to say things properly. Your mother always accused me of talking around my feelings instead of through them. Unfortunately, she was right about most things.\u201d<\/p>\n

A broken laugh escaped Daniel despite himself. Very Richard. He kept reading.<\/p>\n

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\u201cAbout the championship game: I know sorry arrived too late to matter much. But I need you to understand something your father was too proud to admit while alive. I sat in the hospital parking lot for almost an hour that night trying to convince myself I could still make it before the final inning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah shattered her eyes instantly. Daniel stopped reading for several seconds. His breathing changed visibly. Then he continued shakily.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe doctor had just finished explaining the scans. I remember almost none of the conversation. Only the word terminal. Funny thing about fear: it makes cowards out of men who spent their whole lives pretending they were strong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily quietly wiped tears from her face. Daniel stared at the page like it physically hurt to hold.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have come anyway. Even terrified people still have responsibilities. But by the time I drove toward the field, the game was already ending. I saw the stadium lights from three blocks away. Then I turned the car around because I could not figure out how to look my son in the eyes without telling him the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel lowered the paper slowly. The room remained silent except for rain against glass. Sarah watched her son carefully. All those years. All those resentments. Built around a moment neither father nor son truly understood. Daniel swallowed hard. Then whispered: \u201cHe was there.\u201d Sarah nodded weakly. \u201cYes.\u201d Daniel looked down at the baseball pin still resting in his hand. Then slowly continued reading.<\/p>\n

\u201cI kept your championship trophy in my office until the day I died. Not because of baseball. Because it reminded me of the exact moment I failed both my children by confusing silence with protection.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words broke him completely. Daniel bent forward suddenly, covering his face as years of restrained grief finally collapsed out of him. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just devastating. Emily moved beside him immediately. Sarah stayed where she was. Because some grief cannot be interrupted. Only witnessed. After several minutes, Daniel finally looked up again. His eyes were red now. Exhausted. \u201cI hated him for this,\u201d he whispered. Sarah nodded gently. \u201cI know.\u201d Daniel stared at the baseball pin. Then quietly said the saddest thing Sarah had heard all week. \u201cI think he hated himself for it too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 24 \u2014 \u201cLeaving The Garage\u201d
\nSarah moved out of the garage apartment on a Thursday morning. The sky above Chicago hung pale and overcast while cold wind pushed old leaves along the sidewalk outside. Daniel carried boxes downstairs. Emily wrapped dishes in newspaper at the tiny folding table. Mrs. Alvarez cried twice before ten o\u2019clock. Sarah moved slowly through the room one final time. Five years. Five winters. Five birthdays. Five Christmas mornings spent pretending survival felt normal. The apartment looked strangely smaller now that her life was being packed into cardboard boxes. The radiator knocked weakly beside the wall. The same sound that once kept her awake during lonely nights now felt oddly familiar. Almost comforting. Sarah touched the chipped windowsill near the leak. \u201cYou kept me alive,\u201d she whispered softly to the room. Not happily. Not kindly. But alive. Behind her, Emily carefully taped another box shut. \u201cMom?\u201d Sarah turned. Emily held up an old soup pot. \u201cYou want to keep this?\u201d Sarah almost laughed. The handle had been repaired twice with screws Daniel installed years ago. \u201cI should probably throw it away.\u201d But she took it anyway. Because grief makes people sentimental about strange things.<\/p>\n

By noon, only the bed remained. Sarah sat on the mattress quietly while Daniel loaded the final boxes downstairs. The room echoed now. Empty spaces where survival once lived. Her eyes drifted toward the closet automatically. The shoebox was gone. The wedding ring now rested on her finger again. The bank card sat safely inside her purse. Richard\u2019s letters were packed carefully beside family photographs. Nothing hidden anymore. That mattered somehow. Mrs. Alvarez climbed the stairs carrying a foil-covered plate. \u201cFor your new kitchen,\u201d she announced firmly. Sarah smiled through sudden tears. \u201cYou didn\u2019t have to do that.\u201d \u201cYes I did.\u201d The older woman hugged her tightly. \u201cYou stop apologizing for needing people, alright?\u201d Sarah froze slightly after hearing it. Because Richard never learned that lesson either. Mrs. Alvarez pulled back gently. \u201cYou know,\u201d she said softly, \u201cI used to hear you crying up here sometimes.\u201d Sarah looked away immediately. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d Mrs. Alvarez squeezed her hand. \u201cI\u2019m sorry nobody was holding you while it happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

That nearly broke Sarah again. After she left, Sarah remained sitting quietly on the edge of the mattress. Then finally\u2014very slowly\u2014she looked around the room one last time. And unexpectedly, another memory surfaced. Richard standing in the garage of their old family house years earlier. Fixing Christmas lights. Pretending not to dance badly while music played from a radio nearby. Ordinary memory. Tiny memory. The kind that hurt most now. Sarah whispered softly into the empty apartment: \u201cYou should\u2019ve come upstairs.\u201d Silence answered her. But somehow it no longer felt cruel. A few minutes later Daniel returned. \u201cThat\u2019s the last box.\u201d Sarah nodded. Then carefully stood. Her knees ached slightly. Age had become more noticeable lately. Or maybe grief simply made people feel heavier inside their bodies. At the doorway she paused one final time. The room sat quiet behind her: the leak, the radiator, the weak yellow light, the folding chair. Five years of loneliness compressed into one small space. Then Daniel gently touched her shoulder. \u201cReady, Mom?\u201d Sarah looked toward the staircase leading down into cold afternoon air. Toward the future. Toward warmth. Toward life continuing despite everything. She took a slow breath. And for the first time since the hallway\u2014Sarah answered without pretending. \u201cYes,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cI think I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 25 \u2014 \u201cHis Seat\u201d
\nTwo weeks later, Sarah returned to Mulberry Caf\u00e9 alone. The evening sky outside had turned soft blue-gray as spring slowly pushed winter out of the city. The sidewalks were still damp from earlier rain, and the caf\u00e9 windows glowed warmly against the cold. Sarah paused outside the entrance for a long moment before stepping in. The bell above the door chimed softly. Helen looked up from behind the register immediately. And smiled. Not sadly this time. Just warmly. \u201cWell,\u201d she said gently, \u201cthere you are.\u201d Sarah smiled back. \u201cI suppose so.\u201d Helen grabbed a menu automatically before stopping herself. \u201cYou still want tea?\u201d Sarah laughed quietly. \u201cYou remember?\u201d \u201cHoney, your husband talked about you like you were weather.\u201d Helen smiled softly. \u201cOf course I remember.\u201d The words hurt. But gently now. Not like before. Helen glanced toward Booth Seven. \u201cIt\u2019s free.\u201d Sarah looked over. The familiar booth near the window waited beneath soft yellow light. For years Richard had sat there alone watching the door. Tonight, for the first time\u2014Sarah walked toward him instead.<\/p>\n

She slid into the seat Richard always used. Not hers. His. The realization settled strangely inside her chest. The city lights blurred softly through rain-speckled windows while warm jazz drifted through the caf\u00e9 speakers overhead. Helen approached with a notepad. \u201cWhat can I get you?\u201d Sarah opened the menu. Then closed it again. \u201cTurkey club,\u201d she said softly. Helen smiled immediately. \u201cExtra pickles?\u201d Sarah nodded. \u201cAnd coffee.\u201d Helen hesitated playfully. \u201cYou hate coffee after six.\u201d Sarah looked toward the empty seat across from her. \u201cI know.\u201d Helen\u2019s eyes watered slightly. Then she quietly wrote down the order and walked away. Sarah sat alone in the booth while the caf\u00e9 moved gently around her. A young couple laughed near the counter. Someone stirred sugar into a mug nearby. Plates clinked softly behind the kitchen doors. Ordinary life. For years, she thought grief would feel dramatic forever. Instead, grief slowly became quieter. Not smaller. Just quieter. Exactly like Richard once wrote. Her fingers touched the wedding ring absentmindedly. Thirty-seven years married. Five years apart. Two years too late. And somehow\u2014love still remained. Not the young kind. Not the easy kind. Something older now. Sadder. But real.<\/p>\n

Helen returned carrying the food carefully. Turkey club. Extra pickles. Two coffees. Sarah looked up immediately. \u201cI only ordered one.\u201d Helen placed the second cup across from her gently. \u201cI know.\u201d For several seconds, Sarah simply stared at the untouched coffee. Steam curled softly upward beneath the caf\u00e9 lights. Exactly the way Richard must have watched it every anniversary. Waiting. Hoping. Hurting. A tear slipped quietly down Sarah\u2019s face. But she smiled too. Because for the first time\u2014she no longer pictured Richard only in hospital rooms or court hallways. Now she could finally see the full man again. Flawed. Proud. Cowardly sometimes. Deeply loving. Terrible at honesty. Terrified of loss. Human. Sarah lifted her coffee slowly. Then looked at the empty seat across from her. And very softly said: \u201cYou were an idiot, Richard.\u201d The untouched cup sat quietly between them. And somehow\u2014for the first time in many years\u2014the silence no longer felt lonely.<\/p>\n

Part 26 \u2014 \u201cI Was Never Brave Enough\u201d
\nBy early May, Sarah had begun building routines again. Small ones. Morning tea near the apartment window. Phone calls with Emily every Wednesday. Dinner with Daniel and the grandchildren on Sundays. Ordinary things. The kind that quietly stitch people back together after grief tears through them. Still, some nights remained difficult. Especially the quiet ones. Because silence no longer carried only loneliness now. Sometimes it carried memory too vividly. Richard laughing over burnt pancakes. Richard pretending not to cry at Daniel\u2019s graduation. Richard waiting in Booth Seven beside untouched coffee. Love had returned to her life through absence. It was a strange thing to survive.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, nearly a month after the cemetery visit, Sarah received another call from the bank manager. \u201cThere\u2019s one final item,\u201d the woman said softly. Sarah laughed weakly. \u201cRichard really never knew when to stop leaving surprises.\u201d The manager sounded emotional too. \u201cI think this one may be the hardest.\u201d That frightened Sarah immediately. She visited the bank alone the next morning. The manager greeted her quietly and placed a small digital recorder on the desk between them. Old-fashioned. Silver. Worn near the buttons. Sarah stared at it. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d The manager folded her hands carefully. \u201cIt was delivered with the hospice documents.\u201d She hesitated. \u201cThe nurse said Richard recorded it three days before he passed.\u201d Sarah\u2019s chest tightened painfully. A recording. Not handwriting. Not letters. His actual voice. For one terrifying moment, she almost pushed the recorder away. Because letters allowed imagination. But voices\u2026 voices made death real again. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to listen now,\u201d the manager said gently. Sarah stared at the recorder for a long time. Then slowly reached forward and pressed PLAY. Static crackled softly. Then\u2014Richard\u2019s voice filled the office. Older. Weaker. Rough around the edges. But unmistakably him. Sarah\u2019s breath caught instantly.<\/p>\n

\u201cSarah\u2026 if this recording reached you, then Evelyn ignored several instructions again.\u201d<\/p>\n

A tiny exhausted laugh followed. Sarah covered her mouth immediately. Even sick. Even dying. Still Richard. The recording continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m making this because there are some things harder to write than say. Though apparently I failed at both.\u201d<\/p>\n

His breathing sounded uneven now. Thin. Fragile. Sarah shut her eyes tightly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know\u2026 I used to think bravery meant protecting people from ugly things. Fear. Illness. Death. I spent my whole life trying to carry difficult things alone because somewhere along the way I confused silence with strength.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah felt tears slipping down her face already. Richard paused for several seconds on the recording. When he spoke again, his voice sounded weaker.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the truth is\u2026 I was never brave enough with people I loved.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sentence hollowed her out completely. Because after all the mysteries, all the money, all the hidden letters\u2014that was the real truth underneath everything. Not cruelty. Fear. Richard continued quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI loved you deeply, Sarah. But badly sometimes. And those are not the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

The manager lowered her eyes respectfully while Sarah cried silently across the desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I could leave you with one thing\u2026 it\u2019s this: Please don\u2019t spend whatever years you have left punishing yourself for surviving me. We already lost enough time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah pressed trembling fingers against her lips. Outside the glass office, customers moved through ordinary morning life completely unaware that one old man\u2019s final honesty was still echoing years after his death. The recording crackled softly again. Then Richard gave one final tired laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Sarah? For the record\u2026 you were right about the pancakes. The first one always needed more time.\u201d<\/p>\n

The recording ended. Static filled the office briefly before silence returned completely. Sarah stared at the recorder with tears streaming down her face. Then slowly\u2014despite everything\u2014she smiled.<\/p>\n

Part 27 \u2014 \u201cThe Clumsiest Love Letter\u201d
\nSummer arrived quietly that year. The trees outside Sarah\u2019s apartment turned green almost overnight, and warm evening air finally replaced the endless cold rain that seemed to follow spring through Chicago. Life continued. Not dramatically. Just steadily. Emily visited often with the grandchildren. Daniel called more now than he ever had before. Mrs. Alvarez still mailed handwritten recipes Sarah never followed correctly. And sometimes\u2014late in the evening\u2014Sarah found herself laughing again without feeling guilty afterward. That surprised her most. Grief had once felt permanent. Sharp. Impossible to survive cleanly. But Richard had been right about one thing: Eventually pain became quieter. Not smaller. Just easier to carry beside ordinary life.<\/p>\n

One Friday evening in June, Sarah returned to Mulberry Caf\u00e9 again. Not because of anniversaries. Not because of grief. Simply because she wanted to. Helen smiled the moment she entered. \u201cBooth Seven?\u201d Sarah smiled back softly. \u201cOf course.\u201d This time she sat in her own seat again. The city glowed warmly outside the windows while jazz drifted quietly through the caf\u00e9. Helen brought tea automatically. Only one cup this time. Sarah looked at it briefly. Then nodded. That felt right too. After a while, she opened her purse and removed the old bank card. The plastic looked worn now. Softened at the corners from years inside the shoebox. For so long, the card had represented humiliation. Then confusion. Then grief. Then regret. Now\u2014finally\u2014it simply felt human. An imperfect object carrying imperfect love. Sarah turned it over gently. \u201cI\u2019m sorry for the hallway.\u201d Her thumb moved across the scratched letters. \u201cYou know,\u201d she whispered softly toward the empty seat across from her, \u201cyou really were terrible at communicating.\u201d A weak laugh escaped her afterward. Because even now she could practically hear Richard defending himself badly.<\/p>\n

The waitress passed by carrying plates while conversations hummed quietly around the caf\u00e9. Ordinary life again. Sarah looked out the window for a long moment. Then finally slid the bank card back into her purse. Not hidden anymore. Not hated anymore either. Just part of her story now. The waitress approached with the check. Sarah reached into her purse calmly. No shaking hands. No shame. No anger. And for the first time in five years\u2014Sarah finally used the card normally. The machine beeped softly. Transaction approved. Such a tiny sound. Yet somehow it felt like the end of something enormous. As she stood to leave, Helen called gently from behind the counter: \u201cGoodnight, Sarah.\u201d Sarah smiled. \u201cGoodnight.\u201d Warm summer air wrapped around her as she stepped outside. The city lights shimmered softly across wet pavement from an earlier rain. People passed carrying groceries, holding hands, laughing into phones, living ordinary complicated lives. Sarah stood there for a moment with one hand resting lightly against her purse. Against the card. Against thirty-seven years of love, damage, silence, regret, and forgiveness. Then finally\u2014with quiet peace settling where bitterness once lived\u2014Sarah walked forward into the warm Chicago night. And somewhere deep inside her, the hallway finally let her go.<\/p>\n

END<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Her fingers trembled lightly. \u201cYou idiot,\u201d she whispered. A weak smile appeared through her tears. Because even now, even standing beside his grave\u2014Richard still felt close enough to argue with. … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4886,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4912","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-reddit-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4912","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4912"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4912\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4913,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4912\/revisions\/4913"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4886"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4912"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4912"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4912"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}