The Love Letter That Wasn’t Meant for Me
The contributors to the story were:
Sherry York, Frances Lucas, Matthew Williams, Natalie Rudolph and I wrote the ending of the story. This is a really cool story created by all.
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Samantha wasn’t expecting anything special when she checked her mailbox that morning, just the usual stack of bills and advertisements. But when she pulled out an elegant cream-colored envelope, her heart skipped a beat.
There was no return address. No postage stamp.
Just her name.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it, revealing a handwritten letter in delicate script:
“My dearest love, I never stopped thinking about you. Meet me at our place at midnight. It’s finally time to tell the truth.”
The only problem? She had no idea who had written it.
Samantha’s pulse quickened as she traced the inked words with her fingertip. Our place. The phrase tugged at something deep in her memory, but no face, no moment, no past love came to mind. Was this a mistake? A cruel joke? Or… had she forgotten something—someone—important? The thought sent a shiver through her. Clutching the letter, she glanced at the clock. Midnight was hours away, but one thing was certain—she had to be there.
The streets of Paris were lovely at night, lights glittering off the Seine illuminating the walkways. Samantha hugged her coat around her and hurried towards the bridge where she and Francois wove dreams together. After he disappeared she’d not visited the bridge again. Too many shattered expectations. Too many unanswered questions. Was going there now wise, or would she walk into disappointment, or danger? “LORD, are You with me? I’m scared.”
A gust of wind swept through the narrow streets, carrying the scent of rain and distant jasmine. Samantha pressed forward, her heart pounding with each step. As the bridge came into view, memories she hadn’t summoned in years stirred in the corners of her mind—Francois’ laughter, the way his hand had once fit so perfectly in hers, the whispered promises beneath the glow of the lamplight. But the bridge was empty now, save for the faint silhouette of someone standing at its center. Her breath hitched. Was it truly him? Or was she chasing a ghost?
She hesitated, her pulse hammering in her ears. The figure shifted, stepping closer into the dim light. Samantha’s fingers curled into her coat, bracing against the wind—and the past. One step, then another. The space between them shrank. And then, as the clouds parted just enough for the moon to cast its silver glow, she saw his face.
His eyes held the same depth she remembered—pools of warmth and mystery—but there was something else now, something unspoken lingering in his gaze. “Samantha,” he breathed, as if tasting her name after years of silence. Her throat tightened. “Francois… is it really you?”
A flicker of emotion crossed his face, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded paper. “I never stopped searching for you,” he whispered, pressing it into her trembling hands. Samantha unfolded it, her breath catching as she recognized the same inked words: Our place.
Tears blurred her vision. “Why did you leave?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.
Francois exhaled, his expression shadowed with regret. “I had no choice. But tonight, I came back, because I couldn’t let our story end without you knowing the truth.”
The Truth Behind the Letter
Samantha’s hands trembled as she clutched the note, her mind spinning with questions. The past she thought had been left behind was standing before her, wrapped in the scent of the Parisian night.
“You disappeared,” she whispered, searching his face for an explanation. “No word. No goodbye. Just… gone.”
Francois’ jaw tensed as he took a step closer, the weight of his absence pressing between them like an unspoken confession. “I never wanted to leave,” he said softly. “But I had to protect you.”
Her heart pounded. “Protect me? From what?”
He hesitated, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn photograph—one she had never seen before. In it, the two of them stood together, smiling beneath the very bridge they now stood on. But there was someone else in the background, a shadowed figure watching them.
“I was being followed,” Francois admitted. “That night, I discovered something, someone was trying to keep us apart. I had to disappear before they made good on their threats.”
Samantha clutched the photo, memories crashing into place like waves against the shore. The strange phone calls. The feeling of being watched. The anonymous letters she had dismissed as paranoia.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You think they’re still out there?”
Francois nodded. “I know they are. That’s why I had to find you first.”
The distant chime of the cathedral bells rang through the night, marking midnight. The air felt heavier now, charged with something unseen.
Samantha exhaled slowly, then reached for Francois’ hand, intertwining their fingers like they had done so long ago.
“I don’t care what happened,” she said. “I only care about now.”
Francois’ grip tightened. “Then let’s leave the past where it belongs.”
A shadow flickered at the edge of the bridge, a distant figure vanishing into the Parisian mist. But this time, neither of them looked back.
The truth had been told. And their story was finally theirs again.
The End.
Hope you enjoyed the story!
Have a Super Blessed Day!
– Lana Wynn Scroggins
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