Fallen Leaves and Old Scars
For most people in this small town, October was something to be celebrated.
It was the season when the oak and maple trees lining the cobblestone streets revealed their finest colors—burnished gold, deep crimson, and warm shades of amber. The afternoon breeze carried the scent of damp earth, softened by the faint aroma of firewood drifting from the chimneys of nearby homes.
People gathered in cozy cafés, wrapped themselves in thick scarves, and admired the leaves as they floated gently through the crisp autumn air.
But to Nora...
October was nothing more than a cruel collector of promises.
It was the month when the world turned cold, when every breath felt a little too sharp against her lungs.
Ten years had passed since her father's final breath faded inside a hospital room filled with the sterile scent of antiseptic.
And for those same ten years, Nora had quietly nurtured a deep resentment toward the tenth month of every year.
To her, falling leaves were never beautiful.
They were reminders that the things we love most can be torn away before we're ever ready to let them go.
That afternoon, the drizzle had only just stopped.
The chilly air stung Nora's cheeks as she followed the familiar path through the town park.
Her footsteps carried the same rhythm they had every October for the past decade—
toward an old wooden bench with rusted iron arms beneath the shelter of a towering maple tree.
The bench had witnessed everything.
It was where her father used to sit with his laptop or an old book resting on his lap while little Nora chased dried leaves across the grass.
It was where he would hand her a cup of hot chocolate topped with melting marshmallows before smiling and saying,
"Look, Nora... October is teaching these trees how to let go."
She let out a quiet scoff at the memory.
Letting go.
Such simple words for the person who leaves...
yet a lifetime of weight for the one left behind.
Pulling her gray wool coat tighter around herself, Nora lowered onto the damp wooden bench.
Late afternoon sunlight slipped through the bare branches, casting long shadows across the ground.
The park was wrapped in silence.
Only the whisper of dry leaves dancing across the path disturbed the stillness.
She hugged herself, allowing the familiar emptiness to settle once again inside her chest.
Nearly an hour passed before the cold finally crept through her boots, leaving her toes numb.
With a quiet sigh, Nora rose to end the ritual she forced herself to repeat every year.
Then something caught her eye.
Hidden beneath one of the wooden slats near the bottom of the bench...
was a thick brown envelope.
She frowned.
Kneeling on the damp ground, she carefully pulled it free.
The paper was slightly weathered, its corners softened by moisture, yet it had remained remarkably intact beneath the shelter of the bench.
There was no stamp.
No mailing address.
No sender.
No recipient.
Only a single line written across the front in slightly trembling black ink.
**For Eleanor.**
**The Tenth October Without You.**
Nora's heart skipped a beat.
Her fingers froze around the worn envelope.
The tenth October.
The words struck her with startling force.
Ten years.
Exactly the same number of years since she had lost her father.
Beneath the maple tree, surrounded by leaves surrendering one by one to the autumn wind...
Nora stood alone—
holding a stranger's secret that seemed to carry the same grief as her own.
