Burning Ninety-nine Love Letters

Every time my husband went to stay with his childhood sweetheart, I burned one of the love letters he once wrote me.

I had just burned the ninety-ninth one.

Yara is terrified of the dark, and she can't be left alone right now. Besides, it's not like we can be intimate while you're pregnant. I'll be back tomorrow morning.

I calmly pulled out a medical report.

Sterling was in such a rush to get to her that he signed the bottom without even looking at the text. He tried to pacify me with a fake smile.

"Once Yara is discharged from the hospital, I'll take you to your next prenatal checkup, okay?"

I looked into his eyes and obediently said okay.

I didn't tell him that the medical report was actually a record of my miscarriage.

And the paper he had just signed was a formal divorce petition.

The man carelessly tossed the pen aside and handed the signed paper back to me.

He even had the nerve to ask with feigned concern, "Is something going on at home? We could always go visit your family together after Yara is out of the hospital."

Meeting his gentle, lying eyes, I whispered, "Sure. Whatever you say."

Seeing that I wasn't throwing a tantrum like I usually did, Sterling's brow furrowed slightly.

But his mind was already with Yara Sinclair. He grabbed a thermal lunch box and hurried out the door.

I instinctively reached for my wooden keepsake box, wanting to burn another letter.

But the box was empty. There was nothing left.

I stared at the empty velvet lining, lost in a daze.

Years ago, when Sterling was desperately chasing me, he wrote me ninety-nine love letters.

I was moved by his apparent sincerity. I moved thousands of miles away from the bright lights of D.C. to this dusty, rural town in Wyoming just to be his wife.

But that sincerity only lasted until his childhood friend was hospitalized.

Today was supposed to be my birthday. Sterling had bought tickets weeks ago, promising to take me to a Broadway-style show in the city.

I waited outside the theater all afternoon in the cold. All I got was a text: "Sorry, Winona. Yara is in the hospital alone. I can't leave her like this."

When he finally came home, he reeled of jasmine. I choked back my tears and said it was fine.

I pretended I didn't know that jasmine was the scent of the expensive French cream Yara always used.

That night, I burned the first letter.

Since he had given me ninety-nine letters, I decided to give him ninety-nine chances.

Every time he chose Yara over me, I burned one.

On March 29th, Yara said her leg hurt and she needed him. I burned the second letter.

On May 6th, Yara said she was scared of the dark. I burned the third.

On July 21st, Yara said her medicine was too bitter and she needed him to coax her. I burned the fourth.

He abandoned me over and over again, all for the sake of Yara Sinclair.

Three days ago, he abandoned me for the ninety-ninth time. And I burned the very last letter.

2.

That day, I was at the hospital for a routine checkup. I happened to run into Yara in the hallway.

She greeted me with a sugary-sweet smile and a look of feigned helplessness. "Winona, could you be a sweetheart and help me with my wheelchair?"

Despite my dislike for her, I didn't refuse.

But the moment my hand touched the handle, Yara suddenly stood up and threw herself onto the floor.

She looked up at me with tear-filled, accusing eyes. "Winona! Why would you push me?"

That was exactly when Sterling appeared.

He ran over, panicking. In his haste, he slammed into me, knocking me hard against the floor.

He didn't even glance at me. He lunged straight for Yara, his voice trembling with worry.

"Yara! Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

Then, he turned to me with a look of pure loathing. "Winona Vance! Are you out of your mind? You're so pathetic and jealous that you'd come to the hospital just to hurt her!"

I had fallen hard. A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my lower abdomen, turning my face ghostly white.

I reached out, wanting Sterling to help me up.

But he only watched my struggle with cold indifference. He even scoffed at me.

"Stop acting, Winona. Do you really think faking an injury is going to make me forgive you?"

Yara's whimpering voice drifted from beside him. "Sterling... it hurts so much."

Without another word, Sterling scooped Yara up in his arms to find a doctor.

"Don't be scared, Yara. I've got you. I'm taking you to a doctor right now."

I was left there on the cold tile. I watched his back disappear into the distance.

The pain in my belly became unbearable. My vision began to blur.

It wasn't until a pool of blood began to stain the floor beneath me that a passing nurse screamed for help.

When I finally woke up, all I saw was the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room.

A young nurse held my hand, her eyes full of pity. "It's over now. You're safe. You're young... you can have another baby in the future."

Back in the present, my hand instinctively moved to my stomach.

The physical pain was gone, but the emptiness was a different kind of agony.

I had waited so long for that child. I had taken so many supplements and been so careful, only for it to end like this.

My baby was killed by its own father.

Looking at the empty box and the signed divorce papers, my tears finally fell.

It's over. All of it is finally over.

In seven days, the divorce will be finalized and legally processed.

3.

The first day of the countdown, I went to the local administrative office to file the papers.

On my way back, I passed the big department store downtown.

Through the blurry glass window, I saw Sterling. He was shopping for clothes with Yara.

Yara had picked out a vibrant red cashmere sweater. Even from across the street, I could tell how expensive and beautiful it was.

I found myself walking closer, drawn to the sight like a moth to a flame.

As I neared the entrance, I could hear their conversation.

Yara was clinging to Sterling's arm, acting like a spoiled brat. "Sterling, since I'm getting discharged, can I have a new outfit to celebrate?"

Sterling looked at her with such tenderness it made my stomach turn. "Of course."

Yara hesitated, pouting. "But this one is so expensive. Maybe we shouldn't."

"It's only fifty dollars, Yara. If you like it, it's yours."

In an instant, my memory flashed back to two weeks ago.

I was so excited about the baby. I practically begged Sterling to come buy some things for the nursery.

In that very same store, Sterling had pointed at a five-dollar baby blanket and scoffed.

"That's too much. It's just for a kid. They don't need luxury items."

But now, facing a fifty-dollar sweater for Yara, he didn't even blink.

Maybe it was because my own coat was so old and thin.

The winter wind seemed to slice right through me. I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I realized then that as long as it was for Yara, the price never mattered.

I wandered the streets for hours, lost in thought, before finally heading home.

I was surprised to find Sterling waiting for me in the living room.

Seeing how pale I was, he hesitated for a moment. He actually walked over to me.

"Are you feeling okay? Look, the day after tomorrow, I'll take you to the supply store to get those baby things you wanted."

I looked at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow's date had a little "Y" written on it in Sterling's handwriting.

Tomorrow was Yara's birthday.

I listened to his lie with a hollow heart. It was such a pathetic, transparent deception.

But I was too exhausted to call him out on it.

I just nodded slowly and said, "Okay."

4.

On the third day of the countdown, Sterling was gone before I even opened my eyes.

I waited at home until the afternoon. Eventually, a neighbor's kid told me Sterling had taken Yara to the theater.

The little boy had a bad memory and mumbled, "Sterling said he'll hang out with you tomorrow, Winona."

I gently patted his head and gave him a piece of butterscotch from my pocket.

The boy was thrilled. He ran off, shouting to his friends.

"Wow, Winona didn't even get mad this time!"

I froze, thinking back to how I used to be.

Every time Sterling went to see Yara, I would scream and cry.

I would grab his arm and beg him to stay. I would hunt them down in town like a woman possessed.

And he would always shove my hands away with disgust, telling me I was being unreasonable and insane.

I was unreasonable, wasn't I? But I had been unreasonable ninety-nine times.

The letters were gone. The baby was gone. The illusion of a happy marriage had shattered.

There was no point in lying to myself anymore.

When Sterling finally came home that night, I was sitting by the lamp, sewing.

It was a small garment for a child. I had spent weeks visiting neighbors, collecting a hundred different scraps of fabric to make a traditional "Blessing Outfit."

Even though my baby would never get to wear it, I wanted to finish it as a prayer for its soul.

Perhaps he felt guilty for breaking our date. He tentatively asked if I needed help.

I looked at him and quietly shook my head.

But he took the fabric anyway, slowly smoothing out the colorful scraps with his fingers.

The warm light of the lamp hit his face, and for a split second, I could almost believe he loved me.

5.

On the fifth day of the countdown, I went out to buy some groceries.

On my way home, Yara blocked my path.

"I heard the news about your baby, Winona. Since you won't be needing this anymore, I figured I'd take it!"

She pulled something out of her designer bag.

It was the Blessing Outfit I had spent so much time sewing.

I stared at it, my heart stopping. "How did you get that?"

Yara smirked, her eyes glinting with malice. "Don't you know? Sterling gave it to me."

"He said since I just got out of the hospital, I needed some good luck to ward off the illness."

"After all, this is a 'Blessing Outfit.' It's meant to bring health and a long life."

Yara feigned a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot. Your baby is dead. There's no life to protect, is there?"

"I mean, since you don't have a kid, this thing is useless to you. It makes sense that Sterling would give it to someone who could actually use the luck."

I couldn't take it anymore. I lunged forward to grab the clothes back.

I had given up everything. I was even giving her my husband of three years.

Why wouldn't she just leave me alone?

I had nothing left. I just wanted this one small thing to remember my child by.

Yara gripped the fabric tight, refusing to let go.

"You still don't get it, do you? I'm the one he loves. You're just a dried-up wife who couldn't even keep a pregnancy."

"Actually, it's better that your brat died."

Her words were like poison.

I could handle her insulting me, but my child was off-limits.

I didn't think. I just swung my hand and slapped her across the face as hard as I could.

"Apologize to my child!"

Before she could respond, Sterling's voice thundered from down the street. "Winona! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Seeing him, Yara immediately burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

She tilted her head so he could see the red mark on her cheek. "Sterling... I just wanted to help her finish the sewing, but she..."

Sterling pulled her behind him, glaring at me with pure rage. "You're a psycho."

"It's just a piece of clothing! You're really going to hit Yara over some scraps of fabric? She was just trying to be nice!"

I looked him dead in the eye. "You gave it to her? You gave her the outfit I made for our baby?"

Sterling's eyes shifted. He couldn't maintain eye contact. "Winona, don't be like this. I just... I just..."

He couldn't find an excuse.

I realized then that he must have been the one to offer it to her. If he hadn't, he would have backed up her lie about "helping."

Finally, he blurted out, "Yara just got out of surgery. She needed the good luck. I thought..."

I had heard this so many times before. Yara was cold, so I gave her your favorite coat.

Yara was weak, so I gave her the soup I made for you.

Yara's skin is sensitive, so I gave her your expensive lotion.

I didn't want to hear it anymore. I didn't even want the clothes back.

It didn't matter if he thought our child was unimportant, or if he just cared about Yara more. None of it mattered.

I let out a broken, hollow laugh. "Keep it. She can have it."

Sterling looked surprised. He seemed relieved. "Winona, I promise, I'll help you make a new one. We'll do it together."

"Don't bother."

The baby was gone, and I was leaving. He was finally free. He didn't have to pretend to care about my feelings anymore.

Sterling took Yara back to the clinic to check her face.

I went to the administrative office and picked up the finalized divorce decree. I decided to leave early.

Four hours before my train, I tore up our wedding photos.

Three hours before my train, I packed my single suitcase and left the divorce papers and the miscarriage report on the coffee table.

Two hours before my train, I boarded the bus to the station.

As we passed a local bistro, I saw Yara clinging to Sterling's arm as they walked inside.

One hour before my train, I sat in the waiting room, holding my ticket.

At the same time, Sterling and Yara arrived back at the house.

I don't know what Yara said to him on the way, but the second he walked through the door, he started shouting toward the bedroom.

"Winona! Get out here! You owe Yara an apology!"

But before he reached the bedroom, something on the table caught his eye.

The papers were laid out clearly. On top was the approved divorce decree. Underneath was the report from the night I lost the baby.

Before he could process it, Yara leaned over and read the bold letters aloud. "Divorce decree?"