Henry watched the tea slide slowly down the drain. He found sleep to be impossible most nights, so filling his time with tea and a good book had become a habit. However, even that was too tedious for him. The books were filled with useless information, and the tea was always tepid. Surely, something could free him from the thoughts that plagued him.
Turning back toward his room, Henry found himself stopping at the hall closet. A large box in the back housed a treasure he hadn't looked on in years. Abigail's diaries. Many years before they were even acquainted, Abigail had kept a diary. The tradition continued well into their marriage, and, Henry assumed, after she disappeared. Though he found solace in reading words, he never quite understood her love for writing them.
"Why do you write?" Henry asked, looking over at his wife.
She looked up from the page, and smiled. "Because there are things to write about."
He rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant."
Abigail giggled, and shifted her weight so she was leaning against him. "I know." There was a paused before her features turned serious. "I want to keep the best parts of me safe for you, and myself. And writing is how I do that."
Henry pulled the box open and grabbed the first diary he saw. Leaning against the hallway wall, he gently opened it, revealing his wife's impeccable handwriting. A small smile played on his lips as his eyes scanned the pages.
January 6th, 1955: God knows I love that man, but sometimes he drives me mad. He worries over his secret, when worrying will do him no good. How I wish he would just trust that if it does come out, those who truly love him will remain steadfast. God did not make him this way for nothing.
He frowned at the last sentence. Henry had known Abigail's faith in God, like a man knows a sunset. He saw it, found beauty in it, but didn't understand it. She would often encourage him with words like trust and faith in God creating him the way he did. But those words fell on deaf ears. Skimming a few more pages, his eyes fell on something surprising.
January 20th, 1955: There will come a time when I will have to leave. That truth is evident. Yet, I long to know whether Henry will find another. I want to see her; to stand face to face with her, and thank her. It will take a woman of great courage to take Henry for who he is. I should know. But more than that, it will take great courage for Henry to open up to someone again, once I've gone. In fact, my leaving may stop him from doing so completely. I know my husband. He did not open up to me easily. Dear God, I pray when a woman comes into Henry's life, he would recognize her as strong, trustworthy, and completely right for him. Do not let him live the rest of his days alone.
Her words, though written many years ago, cut him like a freshly sharpened knife. Even before their separation was near, Abigail was thinking of him. Longing for a woman to come into his life that would be worthy of his secret. Who would carry it with such a grace and dignity that it would shock him.
Since Abigail's disappearance, Henry had found no woman he could trust. At least, not in the way he trusted his wife. No woman...but one. Suddenly, the pieces started to fall into place, in both his head and his heart.
"Oh my goodness..." He said, letting the diary fall to the floor with a soft thud. "Jo..."
There she was, standing before him in his mind. Strong; oh so strong. She had proven that time and time again in their professional relationship, and in their friendship. Trustworthy, like the rising and setting of the sun. Not once had she pushed him to reveal more of himself than he desired to. And to top it all off, he had chosen to die in front of her. Risking it all, because he couldn't bear to think of her being hurt.
"Dad?"
Henry looked up, blinking back his thoughts, and saw Abe standing at the other end of the hallway. A worried expression painted his face, and guilt tickled at his heart. "I'm sorry, Abraham. Did I wake you?"
He shook his head. "No, but what are you doing out in the hallway at one o'clock in the morning?"
He laughed, realizing how foolish he looked. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd..." His voice trailed off. What had he been doing here? Certainly, there would be some solace found in reading his wife's words, but was it more than that? Maybe he was looking for answers, and as he thought another moment, Henry realized that could be the truth of his sitting there in the middle of the night, with diaries splayed around him.
"Mom's old diaries," Abe said, kneeling down in front of him. "I haven't seen these in years."
"Yes, I was just looking through them."
"And?"
Henry looked up, puzzled by his questioning tone. "And what?"
"What did you discover?" He said laughing. "No one reads old journals or diaries just for fun. They do it to discover something. Did you find what you were looking for?"
Silence settled between them, and Henry considered the question. Did he, indeed, find what he was looking for? He found Abigail praying for another woman when she was gone. He found his wife was far more giving and selfless than he could have ever imagined. Jo's face flashed through his mind, and a smile slowly formed on his lips. Yes, he had found what he was looking for, and it had been right in front of him the entire time.