He wasn’t old. Not yet at least. His hair didn’t seem to know that though, as white flecks had already begun to appear in the black. It was probably stress. There was nothing he could do about it. He was in good shape for his age, and the years hadn’t taken too great of a toll on his strength or endurance. His face was lightly wrinkled and had laugh lines from better times. Overall, he was still fairly attractive, he thought. The stress, however, would slowly take that from him too. Even now, he was procrastinating. Staring at himself in the mirror as the time dwindled. Letting the stress build up as the time to complete his work constantly diminished. Procrastination had taken so much from him. The doctor said the stress it caused had already taken years off his life. Ironic.
John was about to get to work when he, from habit alone, looked to the counter where his wife had left it three weeks earlier. He still hadn’t read it. He didn’t have to read this letter, though. On top of the letter sat her ring, which she’d faithfully worn for 15 years. It was probably because he’d missed one too many of Michael’s t-ball games, or because he always ended up waiting until the last minute to buy her things on special occasions. She’d told him what was wrong, but he’d waited too long to fix it. He never left himself enough time, even for the thing he valued most. At least, he thought he valued family. He didn’t really know. Maybe he just hadn’t figured out his values yet, either.