A Short Story: Love Letters from the Husband and Wife

Set during a period of war, two lovers are now split between their warring countries, divided by politics, united by love, separated and longing for each other....

Love Letters from the Husband and Wife

Dear B,

So we are not together but we are always together. I saw your face. I felt your touch, I pretended to smell you, but I saw her. You love her. She’s real. I am only in your heart, in your mind. However, we share a soul. I admit, we may never be together again. I try to accept that. But we are what we are. We’ve been blessed with this love. Maybe it is true love. I feel it is. I will paint tonight. You will be by my side. I will imagine you here. And you will talk to me, love me as I am, humble, here. Honestly, I stopped waiting today. I think I did. I accept our placements. I accept us as we are. Please do the same. Stay with me in my mind and heart but love her because the world accepts that – her not me. We always have each other, but not in flesh. You are too important.



My wife,

I cannot fathom this eternity without you. Is that dramatic enough for you because you seem to think our souls chose this predicament? Why do you accept this distance? I do not. I miss our loquacious pontificating. You are supposed to laugh. We need to expand our vocabulary, my love. The knell of the bells ringing in the tower reminded me of our wedding. Do you remember the night? No one saw your belly. They had no idea. I spent it rubbing our little boy, holding him, holding you. I lay behind you, smelling your hair. We slept instead of making love. You had a tinge of morning sickness, but the powder and soap penetrated my nostrils. So right now I remember your realness, the scent of my woman.

I hope the children are keeping you busy so you don’t think of me as much. I keep asking for more to do around here, but being high on the totem pole means I barely work. It isn’t good for my head. I like to stay busy. I have to admit something, I feel you hate me because I thought I could handle your writings. I get homesick, my love. I made a bet with a friend, you would write five letters before I found the courage to write my own.

I love you for writing to me. I lied. I love the letters. I love you for your strength. I love you for your wisdom, although I feel it is your wisdom that keeps me going. All of your little sayings pop in my head. They keep me going. I figured for sure you would leave me by now, seeing many moons will pass before I see you. We still maintain our love by the sheer infatuation. Obsessed. Insolent. Persistent. I am these things, as you are.
I want more children, my love. I want our son that was never born. I want to hold your round belly in my arms again. I was never by your side, but I suffered the loss as well. Why won’t you talk to me about it? It happened and I want my son. When I come home, will you bare me more? Modern times say we have enough, but I am missing the joys of their laughter, the annoyance of their dirty diapers. Please say yes. I am missing so much. Remember that when I come home.

Your Husband

Dear B,

You send very few letters. It disheartens me when I open an empty mailbox. You asked my why I love you. Honestly, I have no idea. I think when I first saw you smile I melted a bit. And then your voice hypnotized me. I thought that the eloquent man would one day lead the world to better days. I saw you and then I watched your patience as you battled your way to success. I stood there, waiting for you to loose your cool, lose your mind, but you consistently remained yourself. You love with a guarded heart, but one day you opened to me. I love you because in your arms I feel safe. I don’t know why only you calms me at the end of the day. Thoughts of you keep me focused instead of distracted. I remember your patient words of wisdom after our child died. You hated me. I know you did. You blame me, but do you ever see that mistakes happen. You left me alone with three children, stress overcame me and I lost the child. I beg you to wait until you come home permanently before we try to conceive again. I am heartbroken. The children are heartbroken although they only show it at bedtime.

I know my depression overtook the whole house. Every day you walked with me, talked to me, listened to me. You reminded me to eat. Your patience, my good husband, made me believe in your absolute love for me. Why did you stay by my side? My entire family abandoned me because I didn’t carry the child to term. But you loved me despite everything. I love you because when everyone accused me of failing my children, you stood by me, believing in me. You nursed me back to health and God only knows how you stayed believing in me. I don’t always fit in, but with you I am peaceful and loved. Come home soon.



Dear B,

I think people are finding out about the little one. I have tried so hard to keep her hidden from the world, but I made such a big deal over our firstborn. She is going to grow up thinking I never loved her as much because I refused to let people see her. I’m afraid, my love. She is brilliant. She is strong. I didn’t know they would follow us here. The press is voracious. Our friends are few. The resemblance is uncanny and I’m so scared. What happens now? Let me tell you she is the most amazing sweet child. She hugs me every time I need a hug. She loves me as if I am the most amazing person in the world, but truth is, it is she. She loves life. She laughs. She cries hard. I feel like my daily musings have been lost because I’ve been so desperate to shield her. She is skinny and whiny. She knows exactly how to tilt her head and say Mommy to get my attention. She isn’t reading yet, but her brilliance shines in her artwork. At 5 years old she draws people better than many children twice her age. She reminds me of you, except she demands more.

I am remembering this moment when I went to her crib after I put her down for a nap and she just babbled and sang to herself. The eczema on both of them was evil, but hers, by the Grace of God, healed. She has been so difficult, but so amazing. School has changed her life. She is brilliant, my love. I miss pushing her around in the pram, little legs dangling. She has little memory of the city and I fear that she will fear it, for she has dreams of fashion and glitz. Our little one is a diva. I know you want her to grow up like us with the writing spirit and I actually believe it may happen. She writes and writes in her journals, asking me, “What did I write?” But I’ve taken to the Waldorf Method so that I do not push her too far until she is just a little older. I think the school has Montessori platform, but there I go, getting technical when all you want to know about is her daily life. Today she did wonderfully with her chores. She is addicted to the drawing pad. Should I stop her or should I encourage more thoughtful play? I wish you were here to read to her. I don’t have the patience. I feel like such a failure that I do not read to her. It is the medicine, my love. I am tired and she has other interests. I hope she forgives me, but I am waiting for the day she says to me, “Mommy, why don’t you read to me?” She already asks, but how can I explain that I prefer to write than to read. There are many crosses I carry and I cannot explain them to her. Maybe one day you will. Maybe the history of her generation will explain to her the burdens she carried.


My wife,

That was a dangerous letter you posted. You cannot ever speak of our child. I understand you feel the need to share truth, but we are in subtle but poignant battle. How can anyone know our story? Move on from me, my love. I fear by loving you I put you in grave danger. My love for you surpasses common sense. Leave me as just a memory. Our daughter is our finality. Accept her as the only gift I could ever give. Please, love me no more. Abandon me and soon we may move on. How do loving, living souls as ours move on? I have no idea. We must try.

With infinite love,

Your Husband

Dear B,

I will never do such a thing. Never.


Dear B,

I am wearing the little black nightie tonight and I have a glass of Chianti at my lips. I imagine you. And that is all I will say.



My love,

They threatened her today, my love. Someone stopped us in the street, pretending to give the little one candy. Instead, for my eyes only, he held a blade to her little neck. He spoke to me in French so she wouldn’t understand. If our child ever knows you, we die. You know I fight. I am your prized fighter. I made that vow and I meant it forever. Now as I look at her, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? My letters are a threat. Our child is a threat. You married and loved a writer, a poet. Yet you expect me to be silent the rest of my life? When did you become one of them – living in fear of the establishment designed to hold us down like pigs in a pen. How dare you not kill that man in his sleep, or torture him for ever threatening your baby. I am violent today my love because I truly never expected that anyone had the audacity in this day and age to challenge our love. But I believe you give them power by your fear of our truth, not theirs, ours. You fear, which leaves me powerless.

I put down my pen after I wrote that and I left the children with a trusted friend. I killed him myself, my love. These things I cannot tolerate.

Only Yours,

My woman,

How can I refute you? I wouldn’t dare. I am sad that I’ve turned your pure soul into this being so willing to defend us like this. I hate myself but I am proud. This is the way it must be if we are to stay alive. We are no longer the pigs in the pen, dissected for food and sport. We are no longer in the depths of hell spawned from the insanities of our captors. We are growing into something else. We are growing powerful and you are right. The fear that eats me inside is gnawing at me, but then you set me free. You did not kill him, my love. It was a test. Thank you for loving me, and I wish I could stop testing you, but I must. Exactly how far are you willing to go to protect our children? The man you met who feigned death for you will be sending supplies that I know you need. I know the rations are meager and I know you and the children are hungry. I know this and he will help. Trust that I know what I am doing. Trust that I must continue to obscure you from the tyranny of both our nations.

I will end this with a poem.

It is in your strength I find solace.
My mind captures your scent on my pillows,
Throughout the night, it is your lips I forage.
Night again, then day, repetitive and droning.
The cats bellow, teasing me with their moaning.
I find peace that I remember your scent.
I rub my scalp against your breasts.
This is where my soul rests.

Yours truly,
The Husband

Dear Husband,

I am still in disbelief of your visit! How did you ever arrange such a gift? For months or years to come, our night of lovemaking will sustain me. I lay next to you, seeing your nakedness enlightened by the candles. The shadows bouncing off the walls dance in delight of our return to each other. You hold my breasts between your lips, suckling, kissing, blowing until they are stiff and alert to your touch alone. The wetness stirring in my belly, traveling downward, seeping into the sheets, alerts you. Your kisses follow my scent, your tongue accepting me, as I am – yours. The orgasmic shudders begin at the nape of my neck, traveling through my spine and muscles all the way to your waiting lips, giving you more moisture, like a waterfall finally reaching the serene waiting pool beneath my raging, cacophonic waters. Engulfing you, my legs rest on your shoulders. You push them back towards me. You push further, opening me wider until you can see everything that you’ve missed for so long. With your fingers you probe the soft crevices that quiver under your spell. “So you do miss me,” you whisper. You take your time with me. How blessed I feel to have a lover as giving as you. I finally feel I have no more to give you and I grab your face in my palms, kissing your salty, oceanic tongue, fresh and cleansed by me. As we kiss, you harden and I am ready to engulf you, man of my mind, heart and soul. I cannot help buy cry out loudly as you enter me, for it has been many years since you’ve opened me. Our lovemaking spills into the hallways. You beg me for silence but soon your own sounds overtake you. It has been too long for us to be silent.

With enduring love,
Your Wife

My dear love,

Today she is your daughter! Our little one is quite precocious. Today she stood on top of the dinner table and decided it was time to take charge. She says that since her father is absent, she is now man of the house. I told her that she is a girl and that her father is man of the house even if he isn’t present. She dressed in your trousers and tie, with a mustache of my mascara.
These are the demands: she is allowed to smoke cigarettes once a day. Second demand, she is allowed to sign her report card. Third demand, she is allowed to beat up David down the street if he continues stealing her candy. And our last demand: bring my real daddy home if he is still alive. She heard me crying the other night and she tried to comfort me. I think this is why she has made herself vocal. She sat there patting my head, talking in a gruff fatherly voice, “It will be okay, Mommy.” It was as if I needed the same comfort you would give a cocker spaniel.  Of course I am not ungrateful for the concern, I just miss your touch. In you I find solace. Your soft kiss on my head, forehead to lips, with your large hands and arms enveloping me remind me how vital the love of a man can be to a woman. How could I explain to her that the rubbing of hands along my back are what soothe me?
She is truly free, my love. I fear for her innocence in these times. We’ve taken to putting trousers under her dresses because she cartwheels around the yard and ignores every word I say about cleaning her room. Maybe I am being too difficult. If I just remind her of her chores, she is quite helpful. My love, she drew this beautiful image of her family and sadly, in place of you, Grandfather stood. I was saddened, knowing the good man that belongs to her, to us. She is an actress, my love. She loves anything beautiful. She still asks so many questions with wonder in her eyes. They are your eyes. The long face that is your face. Her scrawny legs and arms, they favor yours as well.
I fear her features will give us away.

Dear B,

We’ve been discovered. They separated me from the children and I have no idea where they are. I am not so sure your friend was truly a friend. He offered me a cigarette and my mind has been absent and confused. Every sentence I write is a challenge but I am healing now. I must tell you what happened. My love, I’ve been calling you and calling you. You answered but you pretended nothing was wrong. They’ve placed me in an institution and they are giving me so many different medicines that I can barely think. I’ve lost so many memories my love. Answer the phone, my love. Please. I heard you’ve left for another country without me. You swore you would come for us, but I have no escape. I cannot describe that strangeness that is now my life. They refuse to tell me where are my children. I am now told that if I want to sleep ever again I must take these medicines. It seems that the cigarettes destroyed my ability to sleep and that I have severe problems. They keep listing all these problems, but I refute when I can because I know I am sensible. My education tells me that I am not what they claim me to be. Answer your phone, my love. I thought our love was the true love. They tell me I am obsessing over you and that I must let you go. They tell me that I have an illness and that I’ve become a stalker. I try to explain that you are my true love and you will come back for me one day.

I’ve been here weeks now. Rumors are flying that you’ve found another woman in a remote town far away in another land. I keep telling myself that this is impossible. My love, we have had our distraught moments, fueled with anger and the realities of life. However, your abandonment begs to question, are you truly my love? Your friend says I must let you go. He checks in once in a while, but I wonder if you’ve placed me here because I’ve been in your way. Have I misconstrued our years together?

My Wife,

Know this before I say another word; I love you more than life itself. I love you, mother of my children, woman of my heart. Now you know the compromise of your location. My friend that is also my enemy finds it easier money to share details of our life. I know you see the imprisonment as the worst thing to happen, but it is actually safer for you at this time. There are too many factions involved at this point so I am at a loss of exactly what to do. All I can do, my love, is ask for your patience and that you keep your sanity as best you can. The children are fine. My people are watching out for them every day. When you get home, watch the little one’s cough because I worry she inherited my immune system, not as strong as yours I fear. Cholera threatens in many places so please be aware.

Let me give you words of inspiration while you wait. I saw three blackbirds out my window today. I thought of you and the children. I imagined your souls attached visiting me for a moment. I miss my family, truly. The news on the war front is that you are winning, I am losing. How difficult is has been to be married and in love with the enemy. We are not enemies. We are lovers caught in the worst fate. Other news says the war is nearly over. From my perspective, this is true, but I cannot convince my superior officers that it is time to let go and move on.
So many young and innocent lay dying. I can smell death every day. I often smell the vial of rosewater you gave me to drive away the scent.

The point of this letter is to speak of life, not death, but I had to tell you the truth. What I know is that we survived this long, we will one day be together. I must add that it is only if God will it to be so because I still have so many doubts that we will find a safe home for both of us, a place without the burden of our countries’ intolerance of each other.

While you wait on me to come home, remember our secret night together. Another one comes again soon, that is all I can say. There are so many other battles to fight; our love becomes less and less of an issue. Putting our love into perspective, it truly is no big deal. How many years have we said that, my love? How many people suffered unnecessarily because of love. We are not alone. There are many others in our predicament because the war was unexpected and hasty. As the battles wear on, know that I pray I will see you soon.

In the eve’s solitude I see your twilight face
Round and solid, lips of caramel and rose, hidden in lace
Matching your scent that I remember so clearly
Sounds from your precocious mouth, my ears only hear poetry
I grab your legs, wrapping them around my waist
Thrusting and throbbing, it is only for you I wait.
This is the waiting game of the most patient kind
For our imaginations take over, leaving us blind
The realities of our devotion, cursed and abused
Mistreated, misunderstood and fervently accused.
Accused of treachery that never existed
Instead only love, devotion,
Scarred hearts blistered
I carry you, the children, the life we once had
In my silence, in my mornings, in my dreams I go mad
Desire and devotion strengthen this fervor
For this love, trust me, for this love
I will…

For you, my love, anything and everything.
Your Husband

My husband,

For this love I will be eternally gracious, filled with thanks. You are home now, my love, and I write this as you sip your coffee in front of me. For this love, I give thanks.

Your Wife


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