A Valentine’s Day Regret
Cora woke up feeling lighter than she had in years, a rare happiness filling her chest. She spent the morning carefully preparing for the evening, her heart fluttering with anticipation. As she checked off tasks from her to-do list, she imagined Eric’s face lighting up with surprise.
She had met Eric at a business conference in Texas, and after a whirlwind romance, they married. Two years later, their lives were blessed—and completely upended—by the arrival of triplets.
Over time, their once-passionate love story faded under the weight of responsibilities. Cora became the primary caregiver, devoting every waking moment to the children, while Eric carried the financial burden as the sole provider. Somewhere along the way, they had stopped celebrating each other. No vacations, no candlelit dinners, not even a simple date night.
Determined to change that, Cora planned a special Valentine’s Day dinner at home. She slipped into the red dress Eric had gifted her on their first anniversary—though slightly outdated, it was filled with memories and love. It was a small gesture, but to her, it meant everything.
She just hoped it would mean something to Eric, too.
As evening fell and Eric’s arrival grew near, Cora meticulously set the table, her heart swelling with anticipation.
At the center sat a heart-shaped red velvet cheesecake—his favorite—flanked by a bottle of wine and an array of home-cooked dishes. Beside his plate, she placed a neatly wrapped gift box, eager to see his reaction when he opened it.
Finally, after waiting nearly half an hour, the doorbell rang. Eric was home.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey!” she greeted him with a bright smile.
But instead of the joy she had hoped for, Eric’s expression darkened. His eyes swept over the table before he scoffed.
“What is all this, Cora? Are we some foolish teenagers?” he snapped.
Her smile faltered. “Oh, Eric, relax! I didn’t go overboard. The ingredients were a little pricey, but nothing extravagant.” She reached for his hand, guiding him toward the table. “Please, just sit down and try the food?”
But Eric wasn’t interested. His frustration boiled over.
“Do you even think, Cora? The babies—I just put them to sleep thirty minutes ago, and now you’ve woken them up!”
His eyes fell on the small gift box beside his plate. With a scoff, he picked it up and tossed it onto the floor.
“A gift? Do I look like a child who’d be impressed by this? And have you seen the kitchen? It’s a disaster because you were too busy making this nonsense instead of keeping the house in order!”
Cora’s patience snapped. Her face flushed with anger as she turned on her heel.
“They’re crying because their diapers need changing, but guess what? We’re out! So instead of yelling, watch them while I go buy some! The store isn’t close, so I’ll be gone for a while,” she shouted, grabbing her coat and slamming the door behind her.
Eric grumbled under his breath as he trudged to the children’s room, still muttering about Cora being a poor homemaker.
An hour passed. The triplets’ cries filled the house, but Cora hadn’t returned.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Eric opened it to find a police officer standing on the porch.
"I'm sorry to inform you, sir," the officer said solemnly. "Your wife was in a car accident. She didn’t survive. We need you to come with us to identify the body. We found her address on her driver’s license."
Eric stood motionless, his mind refusing to accept the words. His throat tightened, and a cold wave of dread swept over him.
Shaking, he reached for his phone and called their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Nelson, asking her to watch the children. Then, in a daze, he followed the officer to the mortuary.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
Cora lay lifeless on the cold steel table, her once warm and loving face now pale and still. His knees buckled, and tears streamed down his face as the weight of his last words to her crushed him.
Guilt gnawed at his soul.
The next day, after the funeral, Eric locked himself inside their home, unable to face the world. The silence was deafening, filled only by the soft cries of the triplets—now motherless because of him.
Then, a sudden memory hit him like a punch to the gut.
The gift.
His heart pounded as he frantically searched for it. When he finally found the small box, his hands trembled as he peeled away the wrapping.
Inside, there was a neatly folded letter and two plane tickets to Hawaii.
Wiping away his tears, Eric unfolded the note with trembling hands and began to read.
By the time he reached the last word, sobs wracked his body. Cora was gone. And nothing could ever bring her back.
From that day on, Eric's life was never the same. Love never found him again—not because he wasn’t worthy of it, but because his heart remained with Cora. Instead, he poured everything into raising their children, ensuring they had the love and care their mother would have given them.
Every Valentine’s Day, he visits Cora’s grave. He sits for hours, whispering into the silence, telling her about the kids, about life—about everything he wished he’d said when she was still there to hear it. And every year, he longs for just one moment to ask for her forgiveness.