The Marriage Without A License Chapter 1

Elias wrote me so many letters after his cancer diagnosis.

I hadn’t opened a single one.

While sorting through old things, I fully intended to toss them all.

But Lily’s voice broke my concentration.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

She looked at the stacks of neatly folded stationery in my hands and gave me a mysterious smile.

“Tell me about them. I promise I won’t make fun of you!”

I didn't answer. Instead, I tossed them into the rusty metal burn barrel in the backyard without a second thought.

Then I struck a match and watched them burn completely, cleanly.

“Just useless things.”

Elias. Those answers I once desperately wanted.

Or maybe, your belated regret and love.

Let them scatter on the wind with this fire.

* * *

Lily stared into the barrel and then, out of the blue, said,

“Mom, was the person who wrote these letters very much in love with you?”

I gave a faint, wry smile.

She followed up quickly, “And is he still alive?”

Suddenly, I didn’t know how to answer her questions.

Did Elias love me?

I looked down at the bright, consuming flame.

Did he love me, or did I love him?

Did it even matter anymore?

After all, he was dying.

But even if his life was cut short, it had been filled with a happy, picture-perfect family, with beloved, well-adjusted children.

I thought our story was finished, neatly closed.

But I never expected him to force his way back into my life like this.

He was always like this—self-important, assuming the entire world should step aside for him.

I took Lily’s hand, and she glanced down, her eyes catching the shocking prominence of the scar on my wrist.

“Mom, does this still hurt?”

I froze, instinctively tightening my grip on her hand. I tried to pull my sleeve down to cover it.

The next second, Lily’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Mom, I know you used to get headaches every night and couldn’t sleep.”

“And this scar.”

She gently covered the raised tissue with both her small hands.

“I looked it up online. It only gets this raised and thick if someone has cut it multiple times.”

My emotions were caught in her current, my voice cracking.

“Sweetheart, all that is in the past. Your mother has you now, and I’m very happy.”

She threw herself into my arms, tears streaming down her face.

“Mom, you love me so much. But are you taking good care of yourself now?”

I opened my mouth at her question, but the words wouldn't come.

After a few moments of silent crying, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes wet and searching.

“Mom, can you tell me a story about your past?”

“I just want to know who my mother was.”

I stroked her hair, silent for a moment, and sighed softly.

Then, my mind drifted, uncontrolled, back to a time long ago.