PART 7 – The Photograph Had Been Kept With the Letter for Years, and Lucas Finally Told Me Why He Had Never Separated Them

I picked up the photograph again.

It was slightly smaller than the ones I usually kept in family albums.

The corners had softened with age.

I held it by the edges.

My mother was standing in her Army uniform.

She looked younger than I remembered her.

Her smile was familiar.

It was the same smile I remembered from our home in Boise.

I studied her face.

I wished I could have known what she was thinking at that exact moment.

Perhaps she was thinking about work.

Perhaps she was thinking about home.

Perhaps she was thinking about me.

I turned the photograph over.

The handwriting on the back was still clear enough to recognize.

I traced the edge of the writing without touching the ink.

Then I looked at Lucas.

"Did she take this photograph while you were together?"

He nodded.

"It was from our time serving together."

I waited.

He looked at the picture for several seconds.

"She kept it close."

I could hear the affection in his voice.

He had lost someone important, too.

Sometimes I forgot that.

I had been so focused on losing my mother that I hadn't fully understood what her death meant to the people who had served beside her.

Lucas had known her in a different way.

He had seen her working.

He had heard her jokes.

He had depended on her.

He had also been there when she depended on him.

I remembered the story Mom had told me about his injury.

She had saved his life.

She had never made a big deal out of it when she spoke to me.

She simply said that they looked after each other.

I looked at Lucas.

"She never told me much about what happened when you were injured."

He gave a small nod.

"She didn't like making herself sound important."

That sounded exactly like my mother.

I smiled.

"She was always like that."

"Yes, she was."

We sat quietly.

I looked down at the photograph again.

There was something comforting about seeing her beside the memories Lucas carried.

For so long, my mother had existed in my mind as someone who belonged to my childhood.

Lucas reminded me that she had also been a person with her own life.

She had friendships.

She had difficult days.

She had people she trusted.

And she had made a difference to someone.

I looked at the smaller envelope.

The seal was still intact.

My fingers rested against its edge.

I wanted to open it.

But I was afraid of what the words might bring back.

Lucas noticed my hesitation.

"You don't have to hurry."

I looked at him.

"I know."

He gave me a gentle smile.

"I've waited a long time for you to have it. Another few minutes won't matter."

That made me smile.

I took a breath.

Then I looked at the larger envelope again.

There was something else inside that I hadn't noticed at first.

A small fold in the paper.

I checked carefully to make sure nothing remained hidden.

There was nothing.

The photograph and the letter were all that had been placed inside the larger envelope.

The smaller one was separate.

I held both pieces in my hands.

It struck me how carefully everything had been arranged.

My mother hadn't simply written something and left it somewhere.

She had chosen what to keep together.

She had put her photograph beside her letter.

She had placed another envelope with my name on it.

And she had entrusted everything to Lucas.

He had carried out that responsibility.

I looked at the crimson dress.

It had become a symbol of something I could barely explain.

Earlier, I had thought Lucas wore it only to honor a childhood promise.

Now I understood that he had been carrying my mother's wishes into the wedding day long before he walked into the room.

He had remembered the promise.

He had protected the envelope.

He had waited.

I looked at him again.

"Thank you for keeping it safe."

He shook his head.

"I told her I would."

There was no pride in his voice.

No attempt to make himself look special.

He had made a promise to a friend.

He had kept it.

And I knew that had not always been easy.

I placed the photograph carefully beside the letter.

Then I picked up the small envelope.

My hands were still shaking.

This time, I knew I was going to open it.

Click here to continue reading: PART 8: My Name Was Written Across the Smaller Envelope, and I Finally Understood Why Lucas Had Waited Until I Became a Bride