Girl Finds a 60-Year-Old Sealed Letter Hidden in a Book While Reading to Her Grandpa

Twelve-year-old Sophie discovers an old letter—one that her blind grandfather never dared to read—hidden in the pages of a lost book when she is reading to him. She discovers a love tale lost to time as she learns the painful truth therein, along with a secret that has the power to alter everything.

With the curtains half-drawn and afternoon sunlight flooding through, Sophie sat cross-legged at the foot of her grandfather’s bed.

As her fingertips traced the raised lettering on the worn cover of The Count of Monte Cristo, the familiar scent of aged paper and peppermint tea surrounded her.

She glanced at the elderly man resting against the pillows and asked, “Are you ready, Grandpa?”

A warm smile spread across Grandpa Walter’s face, his faded eyes twinkling. “My little bookworm is always ready for a new adventure. I used to read to you, and now it’s your turn to read to me.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way, Grandpa,” Sophie replied with a grin.

Sophie and her mother explained to the woman about Margaret’s letter to Walter and how he had only come across it that very day.

“Please, can you help us bring them back together?” Sophie pleaded.

The woman’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Absolutely, I’d be happy to help.”

The following Saturday, they took Grandpa Walter to the care facility where Margaret was staying. As they guided him inside, he clutched the letter tightly, his fingers trembling. Sophie could feel the rapid beat of his heart as she held his arm for support.

“What if she doesn’t remember me?” he whispered anxiously.

She looked at the old man who was reclining on the pillows and said, “Are you ready, Grandpa?”

Grandfather Walter grinned, his hazy eyes crinkling at the corners. “My little bookworm is constantly up for an adventure. You read to me now, and I used to read to you.

“And I love doing it, Grandpa,” Sophie snapped back.

Sophie was now the custodian of their unique custom at the age of twelve. She spent afternoons with Grandpa Walter, as she had done since she was little enough to fit in his lap, while her parents worked long hours.

His voice was what had made stories come to life back then. Their roles had now been flipped since the darkness had descended on his vision four years prior.

Finding the precise place where they had left off yesterday, Sophie opened the book and skimmed the page.

“You know, Grandpa,” Sophie remarked reflectively, “Dantès planned his retaliation for years, but he ultimately let some of them go. Some never apologized at all. That makes it unfair, doesn’t it?

Grandpa Walter gave this some thought. “Well, isn’t that the question? He believed that seeking retribution would make him feel better, but forgiveness ultimately freed him.

“As for how equitable everything is… Letting go isn’t always about being fair. Choosing peace above the past is the key. He let out a sigh. “A lesson it took me a long time to learn.”

Sophie turned to face her grandfather. She wanted to know what he meant, but his expression had changed to one of anxious distance.

“Sophie, I think we’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo a few times too often.” Grandpa gave a weak smile. “How about we read a new book? Look in the closet. I think we haven’t yet read several of the books.

Then Sophie sprung from the bed. She pulled open the closet door, which was a little stuck, and saw stacks of boxes with labels written in her grandmother’s immaculate handwriting.

She was moving a box of winter clothing when she noticed a book between two shoeboxes with a faded crimson cover. It was covered in a thin coating of dust and appeared forgotten.

After gently removing it and blowing away the dust, Sophie saw that the gold lettering had mostly faded.

“Did you find something?” Grandpa Walter inquired.

She remarked, “A book I’ve never seen before,” and reclined on the bed. “The crimson cover has a lot of fading. The title is no longer actually readable.”

She put it into his eager palms. Skillfully, his fingers traced the embossed designs on the cover. Then his face shifted, showing a furrow between his brows and a small tightening around his mouth.

“Grandfather? Are you familiar with this book?

Walter’s hands shook a little. Softly, “I never read this one,” he said. “It was a gift from my first love, 60 years ago… but I couldn’t bear to open it.”

Sophie’s gaze expanded. “Your initial love? Prior to Grandma?”

“Yes. Your grandmother was long before I knew her. He kept tracing the cover with his fingers. “Her name was Margaret.”

“Can I read it to you now?” Sophie inquired, her curiosity blazing.

After hesitating, Walter slowly nodded. “I suppose it’s time.”

Sophie opened the book slowly. The text was still readable despite the yellowed pages being undamaged.

She said, “It’s called Whispers in the Garden,” as she read the title.

As she started reading, the story came to life: it was about two young lovers who were separated by misfortune, and the lovely words depicted their longing.

Grandfather Walter listened without speaking, his expression unreadable.

Compared to their typical excursions, the story felt strange. It was filled with intense sadness interspersed with bursts of exhilaration. Sophie filled the quiet room with her voice as she read aloud for an hour. Then, as she turned the next page, an unexpected event occurred.

A letter fell into Sophie’s lap after slipping out from between the pages.

Lifting the envelope, she scowled. “Grandpa, there’s a letter inside this book!”

“That… that can’t be.” His eyebrows furrow in perplexity. “A letter? Sophie, please open it and read it to me.

Sophie unfolded the fragile paper and carefully broke the seal. Elegant handwriting with a slight rightward tilt was used.

She started reading out loud:

“My beloved Walter,

I sincerely hope you would pardon me for being such a coward and for not being completely honest with you when I left you. Seeing the sympathy in your eyes was too much for me to handle.

My statement that I was heading to New York for school was only half the truth. I already knew that nothing could stop my sight loss, according to the physicians.

I couldn’t allow you to bind yourself to someone who would only hinder your progress in life. I left before you could witness my decline. I convinced myself that it was love that drove me away, and maybe it was—a self-centered love that couldn’t bear to see you give up your goals for me.

Since then, you have been on my mind every day. I wonder if you continue to go through the park where we first met and read the poetry books we adored. I wonder if you now despise me.

Walter, I apologize. Not because I adore you, but because I lack the courage to truly love you.

Always yours, Margaret.

As Sophie finished reading, her voice faltered. Grandpa remained quiet for a while. Then his shoulders trembled. He was sobbing for things he had never known as well as for things he had lost.

“She was going blind,” he said in another whisper. “I assumed she had moved on to someone else all these years. Someone superior.

Sophie murmured, “I’m so sorry, Grandpa,” as she reached for his hand.

He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Sixty years,” he understated. “Sixty years believing a lie.”

“There’s a return address on the letter, Grandpa.” Sophie took a deep breath. “Maybe… maybe we can find Margaret.”

Grandpa wiped his eyes and sighed deeply. “After all these years? Sophie, I’m not sure.”

When Sophie’s parents arrived to fetch her up that evening, she pulled them aside and filled them in on everything.

Sophie maintained that “we have to find her,” “It’s been so long, but maybe she’s still out there.”

Her dad scowled. “That address is from 60 years ago, sweetie. Since then, she has most likely moved.

“But we have to try,” Sophie insisted. “For Grandpa. The address is nearby. Asking how she’s doing can’t hurt, can it?

After exchanging glances, her father gave a nod.

A short while later, they arrived in front of the house. With her mother following closely, Sophie quickly stepped out of the car and walked up to the door, knocking firmly.

A woman, likely in her late thirties, answered, her expression unreadable as she took in the unexpected visitors.

“Hi, ma’am. We’re hoping you know what happened to a lady who used to live here,” Sophie said, “sorry to bother you. Margaret is her name.

The woman’s face wrinkled into a frown as her jaw fell.

“Margaret is my aunt,” she responded, “but she’s been living in a care facility for years now.”

Sophie and her mother explained to the woman about Margaret’s letter to Walter and how he had only come across it that very day.

“Please, can you help us bring them back together?” Sophie pleaded.

The woman’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Absolutely, I’d be happy to help.”

“What if she doesn’t remember me?” he whispered anxiously.
Sophie reassured him, “She will,” despite her nervous tummy.

The nurse escorted them to a bright common area where an older woman was enjoying classical music while sitting by the window. Her blind eyes were fixed on nothing as her silver hair was neatly tied back in a bun.

She turned to Grandpa and gasped when he said her name.

“Walter?” She spoke in a frantic, incredulous voice.

He said, “Margaret,” in a voice that broke. “Is it really you?”

Their hands found each other’s, familiar despite the years, and they spoke for hours. They told each other about their individual lives, families, and the pleasures and sorrows they had encountered.

“Do you know what’s most magical about this story?” Grandpa asked Sophie with a smile during one of their numerous visits over the ensuing months.

She gave a headshake.

“The fact that neither she nor I are aware of our current appearance. We’see’ each other as eighteen-year-olds because of this.

Sophie observed them sitting side by side, engrossed in a world that only they could comprehend. With their hands clasped together as though compensating for decades apart, Margaret’s head was leaned against Walter’s shoulder.

“Some love stories never truly end,” Grandpa Walter remarked quietly. “They just wait for the right moment to continue.”

In that instant, Sophie realized what her grandfather had always told her about stories: the most potent ones resided in the hearts of people who read them, not merely on paper.