Off The Record

The Items Inside My Late Husband’s Hidden Suitcase Broke My Heart When I Discovered Them

Published on October 2, 2024

At the age of eighteen, I made a life-changing decision when I married the endearing and humorous Daniel, a man my affluent father disapproved of.

My father had yelled, “You marry that low-life, and you’ll get nothing from me, Margaret!” “You’ll see what love really is when you have to live in a one-bedroom rathole with roaches crawling up the walls!”

But I ignored them. I knew I would never regret falling in love with Daniel. At all.

Returning to that tiny flat at first seemed romantic (there were no insects or rats, only a lack of space). Daniel started working for the post office, and I was able to secure a position as a receptionist in a large hotel.

Daniel had told me, “Job security, love,” when I had pushed him to look for a better paid job. “I have to know there’s going to be a pension to keep us when we are old!”

I could see Daniel’s fixation on safety. Had he not seen his father die in a building site accident, leaving his mother to survive on the meager social aid handed to her? His widow and five children had no pension, no insurance, and he had been an illegal.

Daniel was determined that neither he nor I would experience the same thing. Daniel thought that working for the post office would provide us with that guarantee.

But with two kids to support, two meager wages didn’t go very far. Daniel and I were frugal, but we spent every penny we made. Seldom was there much left over for savings.

After our two kids grew up, moved out of the house, and began their own lives, Daniel and I found ourselves back where we had begun: in Alaska for our son and Brazil for our daughter.

Around this time, my father departed from this life. It would seem that neither time nor my happiness had softened his heart, because he bequeathed his entire, substantial wealth to his youngest son, who was free from any guilt.

Daniel was inconsolable. With bitterness, he exclaimed, “This is what loving me cost you, Margaret!” “The life you deserved!”

“No!” I firmly informed him. “I wouldn’t trade what we have for all the money in the world!”

However, Daniel became quiet and aloof, and I began to question if he still loved me for the first time in our thirty-eight years of marriage.

Daniel then began working a lot of overtime at his job. “It’s this new overnight delivery mail, it has to be sorted 24/7,” he said. However, I noticed that Daniel smelt different when he got home at two or three in the morning.

I had never been a fan of lily-scented soap, but it smelt like flowers. It brought to mind my paternal grandma, someone I was never fond of. Also, he didn’t make love to me anymore unless it was the weekend.

I initially convinced myself that it was all in my head, but nothing changed. Daniel smelled like lilies, he still came home every night, and worst of all, our joint account was empty. That was two years later.

Daniel became angry at me the one time I tried to bring up the topic. Do I also need to give an explanation for my spending? “I earned this money; it’s mine!”

I cried silently every night when he returned home and turned his back on me in the bed where we had created our children, and I never said another word after that.

Daniel’s ‘overtime’ left us with few opportunities to resolve the issues that were seriously damaging our marriage, and we rarely discussed our retirement plans anymore. He only left the house for meals on the weekends, spending the rest of the time tinkering with who knew what in the garage.

I had gone from thinking of myself as the happiest woman alive to certain that I was the most unhappy. My fantasies had all vanished into thin air, and I began to question whether Daniel had ever truly loved me.

We had just celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary when Daniel had a heart attack. Even before the doctor said anything, I knew the prognosis.

“I think you should prepare yourself for the worst, Mrs. Hernandez,” he said to me. “Your spouse’s heart is simply exhausted. Due to his advanced age, a heart transplant is the only choice available.”

“He’s sixty-nine,” I exclaimed. “He’s only sixty-nine, he promised he was going to retire.” I called our children that night, and they, along with my lone grandchild, Anna, took a plane to New York to say their goodbyes.

It was all over two weeks later. After Daniel passed away, he had just held my hand in quiet, despite having talked lovingly about the past to our children and granddaughter.

“Margaret,” he had muttered on his final day of life. “I love you, only you, I always have…” Those were his final words, and they provided very little solace after so many years of uncertainty and sadness.

Weeping for their father, our son and daughter left shortly after the funeral since they had lives of their own to live. Anna was the one who stayed behind to support me in accepting my empty house and my fucked existence.

I got up the day after my kids went and resolved to erase everything from the past. I loaded up all of Daniel’s personal stuff into cardboard boxes for Goodwill with Anna’s assistance.

The scent of flowers overpowered my senses as I was sealing the last box. I started to scream loudly, knocked the box over, and spilled all of the neatly folded contents.

With Anna’s support and comfort, the entire story seemed to flow out of me. “He’s been cheating on me for the last 12 years, coming to my bed every night smelling of another woman,” I cried. “And his last words to me were a lie!”

Tears and sharing my suffering with others helped, and Anna proposed that we take on Daniel’s garage to clear the remaining remnants of my suffering. Entering the garage, the two of us began going through life’s worth of collected clutter.

Anna then discovered an ancient suitcase with rusty locks in a corner. She chose to open it first even though she was going to discard it since it felt heavy. The suitcase was quickly opened with the use of a hammer and an old spanner, even though there was no key.

“Grandma…” Anna let out a gasp. “Please come here…”

I moved to my granddaughter’s side after dropping the tin full of nails I had been organizing. The suitcase was open, revealing an old journal and carefully wrapped packs of $20 bills within.

“Where did this come from?” I let out a gasp. “This is a lot of money!”

Anna took the journal open. “Grandma,” she murmured. “You should read this.I believe that when you got married, he began to save whatever dime he could…Whoa! This was done twelve years ago! Pay attention:I began working the night shift as a sewer cleaner for the NYC sanitation department today.”

Although it’s not easy work, I have to ensure Margaret’s future because the income is far more than my day job. Her father was correct. I am not a winner. I’m resolved to return at least some of the everything I cost her.

“I told Margaret that I sort the overnight mail and take a shower every night before I come home because I didn’t want her to find out. “I refuse to bring that filth into our house.”

As Anna narrated Daniel’s story of his secret life, I was silently crying. “See, Gran, each month he writes in what he stuffs into the suitcase… There’s around $300,000 in total!”

I peered inside that worn-out bag at the tangible evidence of my husband’s unwavering devotion to me and his readiness to give anything up for me. “Oh, Daniel,” I said in a whisper. “And I wasted so much time in bitterness.”

When my spouse had the worst job, I thought he was cheating on me. Daniel, I adore you. I hugged the journal close to my heart and muttered, “I love you so much, and I regret doubting your love.”

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