A few years after her husband died, Laura decided to move to her parents’ old apartment in Miami. But she was there only a month when her first love, Nathan, appeared on her doorstep. Their relationship was full of mystery until he simply disappeared. Finally, she was about to learn the shocking reason why.
A month ago, 78-year-old Laura took the plunge and moved to her parents’ old apartment in Miami. They bought it when they retired a long time ago, and she inherited it when they died. But Laura’s entire life was in Durham, North Carolina, so her family used it as a vacation spot for years.
She thought about moving when her husband, Charles, died six years ago, but it simply didn’t happen. Her daughter, Melissa, had just delivered her first child and Laura didn’t want to leave them. But the apartment remained in the back of her mind.
When Melissa announced her second pregnancy, Laura made her an offer. She didn’t want them to get into debt looking for a bigger house, so the older woman offered them her family house. It was big enough in case they expanded their family even more and was located in an excellent school district.
Melissa had tons of fond memories of her childhood, so she accepted immediately. “Are you sure you don’t want to live with us? This house has more than enough room for everyone,” Melissa suggested after Laura explained that she would be moving to Miami.
“Yes, darling. You guys need your space, and I need mine. Besides, that apartment has been empty for a long time, and it’s perfect for older folks. I also miss the beach like crazy. A warm beach, I mean,” Laura replied, nodding her head and patting Melissa’s shoulder.
Moving her life was hard, but she loved Miami. She was also happy that Melissa and her family would no longer pay for rent or be crippled by a mortgage as her old house was completely paid for.
Laura sat down on her balcony furniture and enjoyed the morning sun falling on her skin every day. Doctors might say that too much sunlight is harmful to your skin, but there’s something about that light and the salty smell of the sea that heals your soul. She couldn’t have been happier with the decision.
One day, she was making a nice sandwich with chips to eat for lunch when her doorbell rang. She removed her apron and went to answer it, thinking it might be her next-door neighbor who loved to gossip with her. But it wasn’t Mrs. Cardigan.
Laura’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped when she recognized the man standing right outside her door. It was Nathan, her first love. And if she was honest with herself, he was the love of her life. Over the years, Laura sighed at the memory of him, even though she loved her husband dearly. Nathan had marked her forever.
They were both in their 20s and most people wouldn’t believe it, but their love felt like something you only read about in books. It was passionate. It was steamy. It was the stuff of legends. The downside was it was also volatile. Some would call it toxic. But Laura was in love.
Their other issue was Nathan’s mysterious nature. She knew practically nothing about his life or family, but she didn’t care, even when he often disappeared for days, weeks, and even months. That was harder to take. He dodged her questions whenever Laura brought up the subject, so she eventually stopped.
One day, Nathan left her old apartment with a smile on his face, and it was the last time she saw him. She waited for him to return and had no way to contact him. After a year of hoping, Laura decided to move on with her life. She met Charles, got married, and Nathan became a memory.
But there he was. Standing on her doorstep as if no time had passed. So many questions ran through her head while she gaped at him like a fish caught in a net. How did he find me in Miami? What is he doing here? Does he think we’re still 20 that he can just appear out of thin air? What does he want?
Finally, Nathan broke the silence. “Hey, Laura. How are you?”
“Hey? It’s been more than 50 years, Nathan. Why are you here? How did you find me?” she asked in a huff. She couldn’t believe Nathan had the gall to sound so carefree after all this time.
“I know. I want to explain everything. But will you let me in?” he wondered and smiled his crazy smile, which still managed to make her heart skip a beat even now. His face had wrinkles, sunspots, and he couldn’t stand as straight as he once did. But he was still… Nathan. Just Nathan.
“Fine. Come in,” Laura finally answered in a huff, crossing her arms and leading him into her apartment.
“How have you been all these years?” he asked after sitting down.
“I don’t have time for chit-chat, Nathan. I want answers. Real answers this time. I haven’t forgotten how you ignored me back then and changed the subject. You either start talking now or leave,” Laura snapped, sitting down on a chair across from him with her arms still crossed.
“Ok… this is not easy. But back then, my parents didn’t want me to date anyone. When I turned 20, they told me that they had arranged a marriage for me with the daughter of one of their wealthiest friends. But I didn’t want it. I only pretended. I fell in love with you. But I knew they would disapprove,” Nathan revealed with a huge sigh.
Laura’s mouth dropped open for the second time that day, and Nathan continued his story. “Whenever I disappeared, I was with her. Kiara. She liked to travel. She was so demanding. But I always returned to you.”
“Until the last time. I waited for a year, Nathan. I waited for you,” Laura hissed, getting emotional. She couldn’t believe Nathan had someone else. “And you were cheating on me the entire time.”
“I wasn’t! I swear I wasn’t! What I had with her was NOT romantic at all. I didn’t even hold her hand. She knew I didn’t want the arranged marriage all along, but Kiara forced my attention and my time. If I didn’t comply, she might have told my parents about you, and it would’ve been bad for you,” Nathan retorted, frustrated.
Laura thought about his words. She didn’t want to believe him, but he sounded genuine. “Ok… so why didn’t you return for such a long time?” she asked quietly.
“That year was hectic. I was graduating. My father got me a major internship, and Kiara started to plan our wedding. It was all so complicated. I couldn’t see you. But then, Kiara died in a car accident and the situation became even more complex. But I let some time pass. I helped her parents out because they thought I was her fiancé, and I went back to you as soon as I could,” he finished, looking down as if he couldn’t hold his head up after revealing everything.
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I mean, I wouldn’t wish harm on anyone,” Laura commented but remembered something he said. “What do you mean ‘returned?’ When did you return?”
“One day, I went to your house, and I saw another man there with you. I didn’t know what he meant to you, but I knew I couldn’t show up and ruin it after all that time. I went to your house every day for a month, and he was always there, so I stopped going. I heard you two got married at some point,” Nathan explained.
“Yeah, that was my late husband, Charles.”
“My condolences.”
“What happens now?” Laura asked, raising her eyebrows in question.
“I don’t know. I hoped to explain everything to you, and maybe we could start a friendship,” Nathan suggested.
“How did you find me all the way here?”
“I moved down here in my 30s. I’ve been here since. I never had any family. After losing you, I couldn’t fall for anyone else. Kiara’s death also haunted me. It was tough. But around 20 years ago, I saw your parents walking around. I found out where they lived and hoped to see you at some point. When they died, I noticed that you didn’t sell the apartment, so I continued waiting,” Nathan continued.
Laura couldn’t believe those words. Nathan never got married or had children. And he had been waiting for her to come here for more than 20 years. “Would you like a sandwich, Nathan?” she offered, changing the intense subject.
Soon enough, Nathan started coming over every day. At first, they were only friends. They chatted about everything under the sun. But at some point, they couldn’t deny their feelings any longer. No matter how much time had passed, their love never ceased. It was like a candle that only needed to be relit to burn bright.
My wife had been marking tally counts on her hands — when I discovered what she was tracking, I turned pale
When I noticed my wife drawing strange tally marks on her hand, I shrugged it off as a quirky habit. But as those marks multiplied and her answers remained cryptic, I realized something much darker was lurking beneath the surface of our seemingly happy marriage.
“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends when they asked. And for the most part, it was. We’d only been married for a few months, and I was still getting used to being a husband. My wife, Sarah, was always so organized, so thoughtful. She had a way of making everything seem effortless.
But then, something changed. I started noticing a strange habit of hers. One day, she pulled a pen out of her purse and made a small tally mark on the back of her hand. I didn’t think much of it at first.
“Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shrugged. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But she didn’t answer. She just changed the subject.
Over the next few weeks, she did it more and more. Some days, there’d be only one or two marks. Other days, five or more. Then there’d be days with nothing at all. It seemed random, but it bothered me. What was she keeping track of?
The more I noticed, the more I started to worry. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly eating away at our happiness.
One night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked as we were getting ready for bed. “You do it all the time now.”
She glanced at the marks on her hand, then looked at me with that same mysterious smile. “It helps me remember things, that’s all.”
“Remember what?” I pressed.
“It’s just… things,” she said, brushing me off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry. A lot. I started paying closer attention. She’d mark her hand after dinner. After we argued. After we watched a movie. There was no pattern I could see.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand: seven. That night, I watched as she transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside table. She didn’t know I was watching.
I decided to check her notebook the next morning. I waited until she was in the shower, then flipped through the pages. Each page had rows and rows of tally marks. I counted them—68 in total.
I sat on the bed, staring at the notebook in my hands. What did this number mean? What was she counting?
I tried asking her again a few days later.
“Sarah, please tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I told you. It’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snapped. “What are you remembering? Are you keeping track of something? Someone?”
“Just drop it, okay?” she said, her voice sharp. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, just let it go.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The marks started to feel like a wall between us. Every time I saw her make a new one, it was like she was putting up another brick, shutting me out.
I became obsessed with the number 68. What was so important about it? I noticed I was being more careful around her, almost like I was afraid to give her a reason to add another mark. But then the marks would still appear, no matter what I did.
One night, after another tense conversation, I watched her add four new marks to her hand. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to figure this out before it drove me mad. But I had no idea how to get the truth out of her. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that our entire marriage was on the line, and I was helpless to stop whatever was happening between us. I left for several days to see if it changed anything. Well, the tally count has increased to 78 by the time I returned.
The obsession with Sarah’s tally marks was eating me alive. I needed a break from it, but everywhere I looked, I saw her hand with those little black lines, like they were taunting me. So, when Sarah suggested we visit her mother, I thought it would be a good distraction.
Her mother, Diane, and her fifth husband, Jake, lived in a cozy house in the suburbs. It was a typical Saturday afternoon visit: tea, cookies, and small talk. Sarah and her mom were in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. I excused myself to use the bathroom.
As I passed by the guest bedroom, something caught my eye. There, on the nightstand, was a notebook. It looked just like the one Sarah kept by her bed. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
I opened the notebook, my hands trembling. Inside, there were pages filled with tally marks, just like Sarah’s. But there was more. Next to the marks were labels: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.” Each tally had a label, like it was keeping track of mistakes.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered under my breath.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this some kind of family tradition? Was Sarah’s mom counting her own mistakes? Were they both holding themselves to these impossible standards?
I closed the notebook and returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but my mind was spinning. Sarah noticed my unease.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about work.”
We stayed for another hour, but I was barely present. My thoughts kept drifting back to that.
On the drive home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, gripping the steering wheel.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“I saw your mom’s notebook today. It looked a lot like yours. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes? You don’t have to be perfect, you know. You don’t need to keep track of every little thing.”
There was a moment of silence, then she let out a bitter laugh.
“You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, relieved she was finally opening up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
On our wedding day, I promised Sarah the world in my vows. I vowed never to lie, to always listen without interrupting, and to be there every time she needed me, no matter what. It was a long list of grand, heartfelt promises that sounded perfect in the moment, but looking back, they were almost impossible to keep.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, her voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, my heart pounding. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some stupid promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
I stared at her, stunned. How had we gotten here? How had I missed this? I’d thought she was being hard on herself, but I was the one who’d been careless, dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t. I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers.
“Sarah told me what she’s doing,” I said. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. I thought it would help, but it just drove us apart. It ruined my marriages.”
“Then why let her—”
“I tried to tell her,” she interrupted gently. “But she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now, Jack. Good things my husband does. It changed everything.”
I hung up, feeling more lost than ever. I could only hope that my mother-in-law’s words fell on fertile ground.
That evening, Sarah came home with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories and happy moments. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing and talking like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives and grow together. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy, love, and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
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