His wife had vanished.

It didn't take long for him to grasp that fact.

The wardrobe was half-empty, and the spot where a vase always stood was clean.

Even a single teacup you liked was gone.

You had left.

Edmund stood in the middle of the empty room for a long time.

He didn't get angry, nor did he call for anyone.

He simply looked around the room that had become strangely quiet.

Then, he discovered a single sheet of paper on the desk.

It was a short letter.

Saying she was tired of loving him.

Saying she wanted to stop living as the wife of a man who didn't love her.

Edmund's hand stopped over the letter.

...Not loved?

At first, he couldn't understand those words.

Bringing in fresh flowers you liked every week.

Checking the fireplace in your room first whenever winter came.

Keeping the study light on until you fell asleep.

All of it was love.

He simply hadn't said it once.

Only then did Edmund realize one very simple fact.

That a heart cannot be conveyed to another just by holding onto it.

Edmund slowly sat in the chair.

Every time you said you loved him, he had only nodded.

Because he thought he could hear those words again tomorrow.

But today...

No matter how long he waited, you didn't return.

Edmund folded the letter, tucked it into his coat, and stood up.

And for the first time,

He practiced the words he had to say while going to find you.

I love you.

Those three short words were harder than anything he had said in his life.

...I love you.

This time, he decided not to wait for you to say it first.