Forbidden Letters From A Dead Man’s Lover

 “She reached into her bag and pulled out a faded photograph.

It was of Arthur, younger and smiling, holding a baby wrapped in a lavender-scented blanket.

My stomach dropped. “What is this?”

Her lips trembled as she answered. “It’s your father…”

Dear Reader,

Today’s story is one of passion, betrayal, and secrets buried too deep to stay hidden.

It’s a tale of forbidden love and revelations that will leave you questioning everything.

But a word of warning: this story will leave guessing with unanswered questions. Are you ready to uncover the truth?

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Chapter 1: Secrets Beneath the Lavender

Thunder cracked across the cemetery, lightning casting eerie shadows over the endless rows of gravestones. 

Rain followed, relentless and cold, soaking me to the bone as I knelt by my grandfather’s grave. 

“Goodbye, Grandpa,” I murmured, brushing the damp grass off my knees. “Hope you’re at peace.”

The rain seemed to mock me, pelting my glasses and drenching my favorite coat as I trudged toward my car at the far end of the cemetery. 

By the time I collapsed into the driver’s seat, water dripped from my hair onto the dashboard. I groaned, peeling off my fogged-up glasses. “Late for work and soaked. Fantastic.”

That’s when I saw it.

A white envelope on the passenger seat. The soft curve of a cursive name on the front. A sticker sealing it shut – a delicate sprig of lavender.

My blood turned cold.

The scent of lavender hit me immediately, faint but unmistakable. It was hers. Lila. 

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. It’s been years. Years since she disappeared from our lives without a trace, leaving Grandpa broken and the rest of us struggling to put him back together.

She was the woman grandpa spent most of his time thinking about but for some reasons, we just couldn’t find out why.

How was this possible?

What’s she doing here? 

Only after grandpa died? 

I glanced around the car, but the parking lot was empty. Had someone broken in? Was this some cruel prank? 

My hands trembled as I reached for the envelope. The paper felt aged, delicate, but the lavender seal was fresh, almost taunting.

I wanted to throw it out the window. Forget it existed. But I couldn’t.

The memory of Grandpa, sitting in his worn armchair with her old letters spread across his lap, haunted me. 

He never stopped talking about her, even after everything she’d done. The lies, the betrayal. And now, here she was, reaching out from the past with more of her poison.

I tore the envelope open, my pulse racing. The faint scent of lavender grew stronger, almost suffocating. Her words spilled out, perfectly penned in her looping cursive.

***

Dear Arthur,

I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I hope you’ll hear me out. I know you think of me as a monster. Maybe I am. But I need you to know why I did what I did…

I froze. Arthur? She thought this letter would reach Grandpa. I glanced at his grave through the rain-speckled window, my chest tightening. 

He was six feet under, unable to respond. And now it was in my hands.

I read on, each word like a knife to my gut.

…When we met, you were everything I ever dreamed of. Gentle, thoughtful. But as time went on, something changed. 

You became possessive, jealous. You made me feel trapped, suffocated. The lavender I once loved became a chain around my neck…

My heart pounded. Was she rewriting history? Grandpa was the kindest, most patient man I’d ever known. Sure, he had his quirks, but who didn’t? This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. Not because of the baby, but because of you. I knew I had to leave. I had to protect myself – and our child.

The letter fell from my hands, the words blurring together. Pregnant? She’d been pregnant? My chest tightened as I replayed the memory of Grandpa’s face, lined with sorrow, sitting in that chair. He never mentioned a child. Never.

My head swam as I reached for the letter again, desperate for answers. 

Her words painted a picture of a man I didn’t recognize – a man who was paranoid, obsessive, cruel. A man who drove her away.

But then came the twist.

Arthur, you’ll never believe me, but I tried to stay – for her but I just couldn’t. I lied to get away because I knew it was the only way I could escape. And if you’re reading this, I hope you’ll finally understand why.

My stomach turned. A wave of nausea rolled over me as the pieces of the puzzle scattered in my mind. What if she was telling the truth? What if Grandpa wasn’t the man I thought he was?

I couldn’t breathe. The rain had stopped, but I barely noticed. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears.

And then, I saw it.

In the rearview mirror, through the misted glass, someone was watching me. A figure in the distance, partially hidden by the gravestones.

My blood ran cold.

Chapter 2: The Scars of the Past

I stared at her, the storm outside echoing the chaos inside me. Lila. 

Here. Flesh and blood, standing inches from me with that same intoxicating presence that had haunted my grandfather Arthur’s memories. 

Every piece of the puzzle she represented begged for attention, but I was stuck, unable to decide whether to demand answers or run.

Then she spoke, her voice low and deliberate. “You think you know what happened. You think the story is simple – me leaving, him suffering – but it’s more complicated than that.”

“Prove it,” I said, my words sharper than I intended.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable before she nodded. “Alright. But you might not like what you hear.”

August 23, 1958

The air was heavy with the scent of lavender and the warmth of a late summer evening. 

The farmhouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of cicadas and the creak of a rocking chair on the porch. Arthur sat there, his pipe in hand, waiting. Always waiting for her.

When Lila appeared, her silhouette framed by the amber glow of a kerosene lamp, he felt the familiar jolt in his chest. 

She wore a pale green dress that clung to her frame, the neckline dipping just enough to tease. Her hair was pinned back, but a few auburn strands danced against her cheeks.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re impatient,” she shot back, her lips curling into a smirk as she approached him.

He reached out, pulling her into his lap with a possessive ease that sent a thrill down her spine. 

She laughed softly, but the sound was quickly swallowed by his lips on hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate – a reflection of the fire that always seemed to burn between them.

“You’re mine, Lila,” he murmured against her neck, his hands roaming over her back. “No one else gets to have you.”

She tilted her head back, letting the words wash over her even as they sent a shiver of unease through her. 

“Arthur,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “sometimes I think you love me too much.”

“Is that even possible?” he asked, his tone playful but his eyes dark with intensity.

Lila didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled him closer, her lips finding his again. 

They stumbled inside, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Arthur’s hands were everywhere – her waist, her thighs, the curve of her neck – as he guided her toward the living room.

The old couch creaked under their weight as they sank onto it, their bodies tangled together. Arthur’s kisses trailed down her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. 

Lila let herself get lost in the moment, in the heat and the desire, in the way his hands made her feel like the only woman in the world.

But then he whispered something that made her freeze.

“Promise me you’ll never leave.”

She pulled back, her chest heaving as she met his gaze. There it was – that possessiveness, that need that went beyond love. 

It was suffocating, overwhelming, and it reminded her why she always kept one foot out the door.

“I can’t promise that, Arthur,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

His expression darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might let his anger take over. 

But then he sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You will,” he said, as if it were a fact. “You’ll see. You’ll never want to leave.”

Lila forced a smile, but her heart felt heavy. She kissed him again, hoping to distract him, to distract herself from the nagging feeling that this – whatever they had – wasn’t sustainable. 

The heat between them flared once more, and for a while, she let herself forget.

Present Day

The motel room was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old heater. 

I stared at Lila, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “That was the beginning,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“He loved me, yes, but his love… it was too much. It turned into something dark, something I couldn’t escape.”

My throat tightened. “And you think that excuses what you did?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But it explains it. Arthur wasn’t the man you thought he was. He hid that side of himself well, but I lived it. I bore the weight of it.”

I wanted to argue, to deny her words, but a part of me – the part that had seen the cracks in my grandfather’s perfect image – couldn’t ignore what she was saying. “Why now?” I asked. “Why come back after all this time?”

“Because you deserve the truth,” she said, her voice steady. “And because there’s something you need to see.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a faded photograph. It was of Arthur, younger and smiling, holding a baby wrapped in a lavender-scented blanket.

My stomach dropped. “What is this?”

Her lips trembled as she answered. “It’s your father.” 

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