White Roses

If someone had looked out the window early this morning, they would have seen Mr. Williams, as usual, neatly dressed with a hat on his head and a bouquet of flowers picked from his garden, heading to the cemetery. Dressed in his wool suit, he sat on his bicycle and rode to Mrs. Williams' grave, who passed away six months ago.

They had spent their entire lives in this small town where they were born. She worked as a teacher, and he taught math. They had no children of their own, so they considered all the children as theirs. The kids felt their extra love and responded with attention. After years of dedicated service at school, they retired and lived peacefully in their home. She took care of the flower garden and him. Every morning, he would go to her garden, pick a fresh bouquet, and place it in a vase before she woke up. And so it went until one morning, she didn’t wake up.

He continued to care for the garden as if she were still there. But instead of placing the flowers in a vase on the table, he now placed them in a vase at her grave.

This morning, he removed the wilted flowers and replaced them with fresh ones. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the black marble tombstone with a white rose engraved on it, his Dolores’s favorite flower.

This morning, John Williams sat on the bench beside the grave and told his wife how he spent yesterday. He was convinced she still listened somewhere, and by the rustling of leaves, he would guess if she was sending him a response.

There was something he had been keeping from her for days. Now, he could no longer keep it to himself, and the old man hesitated. He cleared his throat, trying to start, but couldn’t manage. His throat felt drier than ever. Finally, the old man gathered the courage to speak.

"My dear Dolores, do you remember that dance when I first saw you in that yellow tulle dress? I don’t know if I ever told you how breathless I was when I saw you. Your black hair tied in a bun and those hazel eyes of yours enchanted me instantly. I knew no other girl could capture my heart. It belonged to you from that moment. You just didn’t know it yet.

I admit, it was hard to watch you dance with Robert all night. I must tell you, with a heavy heart, you two would have made a beautiful couple. I thought I didn’t stand a chance. But when you glanced at me near the end of the dance, hope was revived. I summoned all the courage I had, and the last dance of the evening was ours.

It felt like a dream when you said yes just three months later and became my wife. My everything. There wasn’t a happier man than me back then, and I promised you I would do my best to make sure you were never sad.

That’s why my heart broke whenever I saw you secretly crying. You didn’t want me to know, but I did, and it troubled me. You desperately wanted a baby, but it didn’t happen, and I was crushed. The morning I saw you with a packed suitcase, my heart nearly stopped. You held a doctor’s report in your hand like a final verdict. You would never be a mother, and that’s why you were leaving. You didn’t want to be a burden to me. You wanted to free me to find happiness.

Oh, how I didn’t die that day! I fell to my knees. I thought you knew you were my happiness. I remember telling you that from that moment on, all the children at school were ours and I needed nothing more. I don’t know if my words convinced you or the fact that I was kneeling before you, but you didn’t leave. We could be happy again. I know I was. I hoped you were too.

Until that morning, the morning that changed everything. I got up to cut white roses from the garden and put them in a vase. You were peacefully sleeping. I’m still sure you were breathing calmly. I don’t think I was gone for more than half an hour. I put the flowers in the vase and made green tea. I waited for you to come down, but you never did. Something pricked at my heart. I went up to the room and saw you with a smile on your face. You looked so serene, and I didn’t want to wake you. Then I realized you would never open those hazel eyes again. I was left alone and lost.

People were so kind to me, I’ve told you that before. Neighbors dropped by every evening to see if I needed anything. Ruth regularly brought dinner and worked in the garden. I was grateful for their attention, but I told them I had to go on alone.

I found strength in memories of us, of you. I couldn’t allow myself to let you down. I did everything I could to keep things going as if you were still here. In a way, you still are; I can feel it.

So, I wonder, do you know what I'm trying to say? Before I met you, I’d sent my application for postgraduate studies at the University of Göttingen in Germany. We were already married when I received a response saying I’d been accepted. I struggled with how to tell you. I was determined to do it that night, but you beat me to it and said you thought you were pregnant.

You were so happy in our little house, with the flowers all around. I was ashamed of my selfishness. How could I take that away from you? I sent them a reply saying I wouldn’t be coming. Even later, when you found out you weren’t pregnant, I never regretted that decision. You were happy, and that was all that mattered to me.

But a month ago, I found a letter among your things. Your letter, dated the day you wanted to leave. The letter you meant for me to find after you were gone. The letter you never gave me. This letter.”

Mr. Williams pulled the letter from his inner jacket pocket. It was folded, and his hands trembled as he straightened it.

"My dear, by the time you read this, I won’t be here. The doctor’s report has come, and if it’s accurate, I will never be a mother. But you can be a father, and I don’t want to take that away from you. I’ve already taken enough from you. Maybe right now you regret me, but you shouldn’t.

A while ago, you received a letter. From Germany. I took it and held the envelope over the steam rising from the pot. I carefully opened it. It was in German, which I don’t speak well, but what little I do was enough to understand that you were accepted for postgraduate studies. I put the letter back in the envelope and carefully sealed it. Then I placed the envelope among the other letters and waited for you to find it.

I saw you set it aside and put it in your jacket, probably to read it when I wasn’t watching. I didn’t know what to do. My world was falling apart, and there was nothing I could do about it. I could already see you leaving with a promise to return soon. I knew you would genuinely believe that at the moment. I could also clearly see you coming back less and less often. Becoming a famous scientist, for whom a sweet teacher from a small town was no longer enough.

I had to do something. I noticed you were preparing to tell me, but you hesitated at the last moment. That evening, when you said you wanted to talk about something, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. That’s why I told you I would say something first and announced that you would be a father. Yes, in those words - you will be a father. I saw you were speechless, then you got up and hugged me tightly and kissed me. I didn’t ask what you wanted to tell me, and you never mentioned it again. Not even later, when I told you there wouldn’t be a baby, that I had been mistaken. I had hoped I could get pregnant, and my lie would never be revealed.

But it’s time you know the truth and that we each need to follow our own paths that fate has set for us. I recently ran into Robert. He was visiting his parents. He told me he had gone into the hotel business and joked that if I ever got tired of provincial life, I should give him a call. I contacted him the day I got the doctor’s report. He said I could start by working as his assistant.

Although it’s hard for me to leave you, I’m excited about a new beginning. Lately, I’ve blamed myself so much for not being able to create the home I dreamed of that nothing made sense anymore. Not even my little flower garden brought me joy. I stopped believing this was the path I was meant to take. Robert says he always knew I was meant to be something more, not just a housewife and teacher in a small town. Maybe he’s right.

It’s not too late for you to write to the University in Germany and go there. Or wherever you wish. Life is waiting for you.

Yours forever, Dolores

P.S. Don’t be mad, but I never liked white roses. I told you that the night you brought me a bouquet of them on our first date. I didn’t have the heart to tell you then, and later, it was too late. I grew them among the other flowers just for you. I didn’t want to shatter your illusion. I didn’t want to make you sad. Forgive me.”

The old man folded the letter and placed it back in his inner jacket pocket. Then he took a deep breath.

"My dear Dolores, after reading this letter, I couldn’t sleep all night. I’ve been thinking about whether our whole life was nothing but an illusion. Not just any illusion, but a perfect one. We both kept important things from each other. Partly out of a desire not to disappoint one another, and partly out of selfishness. But after all these years, I’m no longer sure who I am, or who you really were. Who were we, really?

I’ve put the house up for sale. I’m leaving, Dolores. Forever. For the first time, I’m leaving our town, far from our little house surrounded by flowers. I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t be saying goodbye to anyone. I don’t want to justify myself to the neighbors or see their faces saying I’ve gone mad from grief over you. And I no longer care what happens to the garden. Last night, I watered it for the last time. Tears streamed down my face as I said goodbye to each flower individually. After all, those plants were part of our lives; it’s not easy to leave them knowing they might soon wither if the rain doesn’t come.

My bags are packed, Dolores. When I return home, the taxi will come and take me straight to the airport. I’m heading first to Germany, to Göttingen. And from there, wherever I decide. I won’t be coming back here. I’ve given instructions to my lawyer to have me buried in whatever city I find myself in. It doesn’t matter to me where. If our life was an illusion, death doesn’t have to be.”

Mr. Williams stood up and slowly walked toward his bicycle. Then, suddenly, he turned toward the grave and, looking at the black marble tombstone, said, "I don’t know why, Dolores, but of all things, what hurt me the most was that you didn’t love white roses."