My mind instantly connected every late night, every scratch, every unfamiliar smell clinging to his jacket.

“How long?” I whispered.

“No,” he said quickly. “It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

I laughed bitterly.

Part 3:

“Men always say that when it’s exactly what we’re thinking.”

His expression crumpled.

“I was only trying to do something good.”

“With another woman’s handbag?”

He looked toward the folded paper.

“It’s too late to change any of this now.”

My hands trembled.

Before fear could stop me, I dialed the number.

The phone rang twice.

A woman answered.

“Millbrook Hospice Services. This is Anna.”

I froze.

Across the kitchen, Robert slowly sank into a chair.

“Hospice?” I asked.

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“My name is Elaine. I found this number inside a handbag.”

There was a long silence.

Then Anna spoke gently.

“Elaine… Margaret hoped you’d call.”

“Who is Margaret?”

“She was one of our patients.”

My heart skipped.

“She passed away two weeks ago.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“Why would her handbag be in my house?”

“Because she left it for you.”

Nothing made sense anymore.

Anna explained that Robert had secretly been working evening shifts at the hospice for months—transporting patients, cleaning rooms, helping wherever he could.

Margaret had grown very fond of him.

“She had no family left,” Anna said. “She wanted the handbag to belong to someone who would appreciate what it truly meant.”

“But she never met me.”

“No,” Anna replied. “But she knew everything Robert told her about you.”

I couldn’t speak.

Anna continued softly.

“He told Margaret how you always admired yellow roses but never bought any for yourself. He talked about how you stayed up late baking birthday cakes for everyone else. He even mentioned the way you hummed while folding laundry.”

Tears filled my eyes.

Robert had noticed every one of those little things.

He simply never knew how to show it.

“One more thing,” Anna added.

“Margaret left you a letter.”

I ended the call.