Against the advice of my well-to-do father, I married the charming and funny Daniel at the age of eighteen, a decision that changed my entire life. “Don’t expect anything from me if you marry that low-life, Margaret,” he had yelled. He issued a warning, saying, “You’ll soon realize what love is when you find yourself in a tiny apartment with roaches everywhere!”
Still, I ignored what he said. I had no doubts that my love for Daniel would not be regretted. At first, our tiny apartment—which had no pests, only a shortage of space—felt romantic. Daniel secured employment at the post office, while I secured a position as a receptionist at a sizable hotel. He comforted me by stating, “Job security, my love,” when I pushed him to look for a better-paying position.
“I need to know that we will have a pension when we get old!” I saw Daniel’s need for consistency. He was determined not to repeat the horror of watching his father’s untimely death in a construction accident, which left his mother struggling with no social support. Daniel thought that working at a post office would provide us the security we required. Nevertheless, our combined income was not enough to raise our two children. Despite our careful expenditures, we frequently found ourselves short on savings.
We felt lost once our children left home and started their own lives, our daughter in Brazil and our son in Alaska. My father died about this time, and it didn’t seem like time or my happiness had healed his heart. My youngest brother received his sizable wealth from him, and he had no regrets.
Daniel was inconsolable. Margaret, this is what loving me has cost you! The life that you really deserved!” he moaned. “I wouldn’t trade our life together for all the money in the world,” I adamantly said. But after thirty-eight years of marriage, Daniel became quiet and distant, leaving me to wonder if he still loved me.
With the excuse that “this new overnight mail service needs sorting 24/7,” he started to put in extra hours. However, he smelt different—like lilies—when he returned home in the early morning hours. That smelled like my paternal grandma, who I’d always considered disagreeable, and I had never liked her. He only pursued closeness on the weekends, which saddened me.
I made an effort to persuade myself that it was all in my head, but nothing altered. Though Daniel continued to smell like lilies and made it home every night, our joint account began to decline. After two years, he erupted in rage when I questioned him about it one day. Do you require an explanation of my expenditures? This money is mine; I earned it!
Every night, as I lay in bed with our children, I felt his back to me, grieving silently. Our “overtime” did not provide much opportunity to address the issues that caused stress in our marriage. He stopped talking about our retirement plans and hung out in the garage doing unidentified things most of the time.
I felt completely alone after being the happiest woman alive. It seemed like my dreams were disappearing, and I began to wonder if Daniel had ever really loved me. Daniel passed away just after our fiftieth wedding anniversary. I knew this was serious even before the doctor said anything.
He whispered softly, “I think you should prepare for the worst, Mrs. Hernandez.” “Your spouse has serious cardiac problems. At his age, a transplant is his only viable choice. He’s only sixty-nine, though! I let out a cry. “He said he would give up.” I called our children that night, and they hurried to say goodbye, driving to New York with our lone granddaughter, Anna.
After Daniel passed away two weeks later, he silently held my hand and talked about our granddaughter and kids. He said, “Margaret, I love you, only you, I always have,” on his last day. After years of uncertainty and suffering, these statements brought little comfort.
Our kids went back to their separate lives after the funeral, but Anna stayed behind to support me in feeling empty within. I made a resolution to let go of the past the day after they departed. I packed Daniel’s things into boxes for Goodwill with Anna’s assistance.
I screamed as I tipped the box and spilled its meticulously folded contents, all because I could smell roses as I shut the last box. With Anna’s help, I let my feelings come out. I sobbed, “He’s been cheating on me for twelve years, and he comes to bed smelling like another woman.” “And those were lies, his last words!”
I found some solace in crying and talking about my suffering, and Anna recommended that we clean up Daniel’s garage, which was the last vestige of my sadness. In a corner, Anna found an old suitcase with rusted locks while going through years’ worth of stuff. It felt heavy, so she decided to open it even though she had planned to throw it away. With the aid of a wrench and hammer, the luggage opened with ease.
“Grandma.” Anna let out a gasp. “Please come in!” I dropped the tin of nails I had been sorting and rushed to her side. An ancient diary and neatly wrapped bundles of $20 cash were inside the suitcase. “From where did this originate?” I let out a gasp. “What a huge sum of money!” Anna took the journal open. Grandma, you really should read this. He seemed to have started saving every dime as soon as you two were hitched.
“I started working the night shift as a sewer cleaner for the NYC sanitation department today,” the entry from twelve years ago states. Although it’s hard work, the income is good, and my goal is to make sure Margaret has a stable future. Her father was correct; I’m not the victor. I’m resolved to return to her at least a portion of what I took from her.
I didn’t want Margaret to know that I had a shower and sorted the overnight mail before leaving for home. I won’t allow that squalor into our home. As Anna read on about Daniel’s secret existence, tears started to fall down my face. “Grand, he keeps track of everything he packs in the suitcase every month, and it comes to about $300,000.”
I at last saw concrete evidence of Daniel’s unshakeable devotion to me and his readiness to give up everything for me when I peered into the shabby bag. Daniel, I said in a whisper. “I wasted a lot of time being resentful.” When I was doubting him, I thought he was cheating on me while he was doing the hardest job. I whispered, holding the journal close to my chest, “Daniel, I love you.” “I’m sorry I questioned your love.”
