A card attached to the ribbon read:

Open this last, sweetheart.

Instead, I picked up the letter the officer had brought.

Martin explained he’d begun preparing the map long before his illness.

Fifty places to celebrate fifty years, chosen from ports he’d visited and destinations he’d always wanted me to experience.

He’d intended to complete it during his final voyages before our anniversary.

Then the doctors gave me the news, and my plans got shorter, he wrote. I’m sorry, honey. I won’t get it done. But two of my places are stops on our cruise, and I’ve left clues.

Visit them if you feel able.

That was Martin. Even after his death, he was leaving the choice to me.

The officer remained in the doorway, holding his hat.

“I’m Thomas,” he said. “I worked under your husband for several years. He trusted me with all this and told me to deliver it today, if you came.”