How silly to even consider it. After all, the lemon juice never worked as well as promised, and more than a few of our attempts ended with the paper on fire and our stomping out the flames. It wasn’t until years later that I taught Arie a far more reliable and safer method, compliments of Madame Esme. Best of all, with an ink mixture of baking soda and water, the letters were entirely undetectable until…

The thought trails off, leaving a revelation.

A possibility.

And only one way to confirm.

***

Within minutes, aided by the inn’s housekeeper—though not without piquing her curiosity—I collect the few items needed. Before my desk, too anxious to sit, I concoct a reagent by stirring turmeric into a small cup of rubbing alcohol. Then, with a lightly dipped rag and only seconds of hesitation, I cover the full back of my note with moist yellow streaks.

Almost immediately they emerge: dark-orange words in Arie’s familiar hand.

I force a breath around the lump in my throat. My legs going weak, I lower onto the bed, and through the tremble in my grip, I begin to read.

My dearest Fen,

If you’re reading this, it likely means my mission failed and I’m not coming home. Even so, I won’t regret trying, because at last I’ve found my purpose, a chance to do something truly special and lasting. Whatever happens, my final thought in life will be this: I love you, Fen, with all my being. And I’ll carry you in my heart forever.

—Arie

The words fade through my blurring vision, distorted by tears. They arrive in a flood and spill hot down my face. I hold the note to my chest, remembering the warmth of his arm around me on the night he took his last breath. The memory, like a key, unlocks a chamber inside me. With the swing of the door comes a torrent of emotion, not evaporated all this time but trapped. It racks my body with a deep-rooted sob from all the pain and loss I can no longer contain. From the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. From all the years I wasted without him.

Starved for air, I take in big gulping breaths. A pang shoots through my chest, and I envision my heart splitting in two. I scramble to cling to the anger fraying inside. Without its threads to sustain me, forging even the semblance of a seam, I fear I’ll come apart.

The fury slips away regardless.

Though I manage not to crumble, what’s left at my core is an agonizing ache, a gaping hole that can never be filled.

How could he leave me behind? How will my world ever be right without him?