With trembling hands, I lifted the lid. Inside lay a collection of letters, each meticulously folded and tied with a faded ribbon. A familiar scent wafted up—a blend of old paper and the distinctive musk of my husband’s cologne. My heart ached with a bittersweet longing as I realized these were letters he’d written to me throughout our marriage, never shared but kept close to his heart, waiting for the right moment.

Each letter was a testament to his love, his thoughts, and his dreams—small pieces of a life we had built together, preserved in ink and paper. Tears blurred my vision as I read his words, feeling his presence with each stroke of his pen. The lockbox held not only memories but also the essence of the man I loved, a reminder that while he was gone, his spirit lingered on.

Astoria nuzzled my shoulder gently, grounding me in the present. Her eyes, once fierce, now reflected a quiet peace. It was as if she had known all along what lay within the coffin, the final gift my husband had left behind—a treasure she had ensured would not be lost to time.

As I stood there, surrounded by friends and family, a sense of calm washed over me. The storm of grief that had threatened to swallow me whole receded, leaving in its place a profound gratitude. For the love we shared, for the words left behind, and for the loyal horse who had brought them to light.