My Ex-husband Sent Me a Flash Drive Before He Died – Now I Can’t Forgive Myself for Divorcing Him

Katherine led a calm and solitary life. At 43, she had neither a spouse nor children, spending her days working, reading, and taking quiet strolls through the park. But her peaceful routine was abruptly interrupted last Thursday when an unusual envelope appeared in her mailbox.

Among the usual stack of bills and advertisements, this envelope stood out. It was unmarked yet had a certain weight to it. When she opened it, she found a flash drive with a name hastily written across it: “Tom.” Her breath caught in her throat. Tom—her high school love and former husband. She hadn’t spoken to him in over fifteen years. Her hands tightened around the small device as she stared at the name, her mind racing. Why would he send this?

Katherine and Tom had met at sixteen, an age too young to fully grasp life but old enough to believe in love. They were inseparable, a couple everyone expected to last forever. After college, their romance led them to marriage, continuing what seemed like a dream come true.

But real life isn’t a fairy tale. The small town where they settled began to feel suffocating to Katherine. She craved adventure—new experiences, unfamiliar places, different people. Tom, on the other hand, was perfectly happy with their simple life, their routines, and the home they built together. The more trapped she felt, the more their arguments escalated. In time, she realized she couldn’t continue living that way. Asking for a divorce had been the hardest choice she had ever made, but she believed it was necessary for them both. They parted ways with sorrowful hearts, each left to pick up the pieces of their own lives.

Now, with shaking fingers, Katherine inserted the flash drive into her laptop. Her pulse quickened as she opened the folder. Only one file appeared—a video. She hesitated before clicking play, an uneasy feeling settling in her chest.

The screen lit up with Tom’s face, but he looked different. His complexion was pale, his eyes carried exhaustion, and his voice was frail. A lump formed in her throat as he stared directly into the camera, as though looking right at her. “Katherine,” he started, his voice weak and trembling, “if you’re watching this, I’m probably not here anymore. I got sick, really sick, and there was no recovering from it. I didn’t tell you earlier because I wanted you to remember me as I was, not like this.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she listened to his words, his emotions spilling out. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on us, on everything we went through together. You were the greatest love of my life. Letting you go was the most painful thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve regretted it every single day.”

He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “I don’t know if you’ve moved on, and if you have, I completely understand. I just needed you to know how I felt. As for my belongings, there isn’t much, but what I do have, I want you to have. If you don’t want them, that’s alright. Maybe donate them to someone in need.”

The video ended with a faint smile and a final farewell.

Katherine sat motionless, the silence around her unbearable. Her heart pounded loudly, the weight of his words pressing down on her. He was gone. No—she couldn’t accept that, not yet.

In a desperate panic, she slammed her laptop shut and reached for her phone. She needed to find him, to talk to him, to see him—if there was still a chance. Her hands shook as she scrolled through her contacts, but Tom’s number had been erased long ago. Who would know? Who had stayed in touch with him?

Then she remembered John, his close college friend. He occasionally posted updates on Facebook. With frantic fingers, she typed a message:

“John, it’s Katherine. I need to find Tom. Is he in a hospital? Do you know anything? Please, I need to talk to him.”

She pressed send and stared at the screen, her heart pounding as she waited for him to respond. The minutes dragged on, each second a reminder that time might already be against her.

Then her phone vibrated. John had replied. His message was short, but the words hit like a punch to the stomach:

“Katherine, I’m so sorry. Tom passed away last week. There was a small funeral with a few close friends. He left a box for you. It’s being sent to you.”

She reread the message, unable to process the finality of it. The tears she had held back finally broke free, blurring the screen. She had been too late. The regret was overwhelming, weighing on her like a heavy stone. If only she had reached out sooner. Could she have made his last days a little better? The thought haunted her, the ache of lost time gnawing at her soul.

Days passed, and Katherine struggled to figure out what to do next. Tom had left her something—one last act of love. She owed it to him to see what it was.

When the small wooden box arrived, she opened it carefully. Nestled inside, wrapped in delicate layers of old tissue paper, were several small keepsakes. The moment she saw them, she was transported back in time.

The first thing her fingers touched was a faded movie ticket stub—the one from their very first date. She smiled softly, remembering how Tom had insisted on saving it as a memento. The movie itself had been forgettable, but their laughter that night was not.

Next, she found a small seashell. It was from a trip to the coast, their first spontaneous adventure together. She could still hear Tom’s teasing voice calling her his “mermaid” as he placed it in her hair. The memory, once buried, now returned with vivid clarity.

And then, at the bottom of the box, lay a photograph of them. It had been taken at a friend’s barbecue, one of their last moments together before the divorce. They were smiling, but now, looking at it again, she could see the sadness behind their expressions. Even then, when they both knew their relationship was ending, there had still been love—a lingering reluctance to say goodbye.

These small objects, though insignificant to anyone else, were pieces of a life once shared. They were reminders of what had been, and what could have been.

Finally, Katherine gathered the courage to visit his grave. The cemetery was quiet, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of fallen leaves. She brought daisies—his favorite—and a letter she had written, a response to his final message.

“Dear Tom,” she whispered as she placed the letter against the cold stone. “I watched your video. I heard every word. I felt everything. I am so sorry—for leaving, for not reaching out, for all the lost time. Thank you for your love, for the memories, and for this final gift. I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me too. I will always carry you with me.”

As she placed the flowers beside the letter, a gentle breeze brushed against her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling a strange sense of warmth.

She had spent so many years running from the past, but now, she could finally make peace with it. Tom was gone, but his love remained, living on in the memories they had shared.

And for the first time in a long while, Katherine felt ready to move forward.