Dear My Beloved Wife,
This might be the last time you ever hear from me.
I am calling you for the last time—not to disturb you, not to burden you—but to whisper a final goodbye.
As I sit here, knowing the time has come for me to walk away from everything I’ve loved, I find myself flooded with memories—of us, of our laughter, our struggles, our silences, our closeness, and our distance. If fate does not let us meet again, I want you to know this: I cherished every single moment with you. You were never just my wife—you were my best friend, my heartbeat, my light when the nights were darkest.
I never realized how often I troubled you. My constant complaints about the office, the weight I carried, and the pain I poured into you without ever asking how much you were already holding. I can see now how often I irritated you, how I failed to notice the exhaustion in your eyes, and how I ignored your silent cries for peace.
You had told me, more than once, that I didn’t care for your pain. I denied it. But deep down, I knew you were right. Today, I admit it with a heavy heart, and I ask for your forgiveness—not once, but a thousand times over. I hurt you, and I didn’t realize it soon enough. But I always loved you. You must never doubt that.
You’ve often said I gave more time to my job than to my family. Maybe it seemed that way… but to me, you—and our children—were everything. My office may have drained me, but you gave me life. You were the only home I ever truly had.
I remember the sleepless nights, the migraines, the late-night calls to you for medicine or comfort or just your voice. I was selfish. I called out to you when you needed sleep. When you said I was disturbing your rest, I moved to the other room. It wasn’t distance—it was my way of trying, finally, to give you peace. I learned to manage my pain alone. I made my own black coffee, turned down the lights, walked alone, watched TV in silence—because I had already disturbed your life too much.
But still, amidst all the pain and misunderstandings, I loved our life. I loved our shared dreams. I still remember bringing you surprise gifts on our anniversaries—even when you didn’t like my choices. It was always from the heart.
Then came my downfall—losing my job in Oman was the beginning of my darkest chapter. I tried, I struggled, I broke, but I couldn’t find a way back. When I got the job in India, and we had to live apart, it tore me to pieces. Your absence was like a wound that never healed.
Then Kenya happened—and with it, a new beginning. *You* brought that light back. You got me a job, and once again, you became the strength that carried me. But I, foolish as ever, brought back my old habits—stress, complaints, restlessness. I dumped it all on you again.
Yet, even then, you loved me. You stood beside me. You supported me with a patience I never deserved.
I always admired your love for music. I still remember your voice during temple functions, the way it filled the halls with grace. Your singing was never just a passion—it was divine. Hearing you sing my poems and songs made them come alive. Without your voice, they were just words. With you, they had a soul.
Those were the best days of my life—watching you sing, living in your melody, being part of your world.
But now, my love, the song is ending.
Before I go, I want you to know: I am not a failure. I lived for you and our daughters. I’ve made sure you will be secure. The rent from our Mumbai flat, Vaishnavam, and the other home will provide you with a steady income—at least Rs. 1,25,000 per month. A pension of love I leave behind.
My investments—shares worth over a million—are for you and our children. My policies, my plans, everything I built has your name on it. Even in death, I want to protect you. The land in my father's name will be shared, yes, but the other half is yours. Do with it what your heart desires. Build your peace, grow your dreams.
And let this be known: I was always loyal to you. I never strayed. I never betrayed your trust. I loved only one woman in my life—and that was you.
This may be my final message. Do not look for me. Do not follow me. My journey ends here, but yours will go on. Live well. Sing more. Laugh often. Love life—because you deserve happiness.
Tell our daughters that their father loved them more than words could hold. Tell them to live strong and shine bright. My soul will smile whenever I see their laughter.
Goodbye, my dear wife.
Goodbye, my love.
You were the story I always wanted to write, the song I always wanted to hear, the home I never wanted to leave.
Be happy. Be free.
And if you ever sing again… let one song be for me.
Forever yours,
Your husband.
