For 63 Years, My Husband Gave Me Flowers Every Valentine’s Day – After He Died, Another Bouquet Arrived, Along with Keys to an Apartment That Held His Secret

I had to stop to take a breath.

“In this envelope is the key to an apartment. There is something I have hidden from you our entire life. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do otherwise. You must go to this address.”

“There is something I have hidden from you our entire life.”

The address was written at the bottom, across town in a neighborhood I’d never been to.

What could Robert have been hiding from me all these years?

I thought about the business trips he used to take when he was younger. The late nights at the office. The phone call he once took outside in the rain.

I’d asked him about it once. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He kissed my forehead and said, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

I thought about the business trips he used to take.
Had there been someone else? A secret life I never knew about?

The thought made me sick.

I called a taxi. The driver was young and chatty. He tried to make conversation about the weather. I couldn’t hear him over the roaring in my head.

We drove for nearly an hour. The neighborhoods changed. Got quieter. The buildings got older.

Finally, we stopped in front of a brick building with a green door.

The thought made me sick.
“This is it, ma’am.”

I paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk for a long time, staring at that door. Part of me wanted to turn around. But I needed to know.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The first thing that hit me was a sharp smell.

Polished wood. Old paper. Something familiar but out of place.

For half a second, I couldn’t identify it. Then it hit me.

Sheet music. Wood polish. The smell of a music room.

I turned on the light. And froze.

The first thing that hit me was a sharp smell.
In the center of the room stood an upright piano. Dark wood. Polished. Beautiful.

The walls were lined with shelves, filled with sheet music, recordings, and books about music theory.

On the piano bench sat more sheet music, neatly stacked.

I walked closer and picked up one of the pieces.

“Clair de Lune” by Debussy. My favorite.

I’d told Robert that once, decades ago. When we were young and I still played.

I walked closer and picked up one of the pieces.

On the music stand was another piece. “Moonlight Sonata.”

Another favorite.

I looked around the room more carefully. On a small table in the corner were labeled recordings. Dated.

I picked one up. The label read: “For Daisy – December 2018.”

Another: “For Daisy – March 2020.”

Dozens of them, going back years.