Calligraphy

Here is a story I wrote a couple of years ago. I might revise it slightly based on some past feedback I have received.

On the first day Haruki didn’t think much of it.
On the second day he started getting a little worried but figured if his wife had meant to send the letter, she would have before she left.
On the third day, the letter still sat on the dining room table, and his wife had also still not contacted him. He picked up the letter, examining it. It was written in calligraphy, which she had undertaken years earlier during one of the trying periods of their marriage. She had become quite accomplished at it but usually only reserved her calligraphy for invitations to important events or for her journal.
Her mother had taken ill months before. Osuka had gone to visit her in Orono when she had first taken ill but returned to Osaka days later. Haruki could not make it to see Osuka’s mother because he could not get the time to leave the school; he was the head of the International Government and Politics department at the university. It also was easier for him to not visit; his mother-in-law never approved of their marriage, as he was not from Japan. Osuka had contacted him daily during this last trip to inform him of her progress.
As her condition worsened over the next few months, Osuka decided to go see her before it became too late. She wrote letters feverishly to all her family back in Japan. The calligraphy indicated how grave her condition was, and took all the letters with her, except this one, which she must have accidentally left behind.
On the fourth day, his curiosity got the best of him, and he decided he would open the letter that day if he did not hear from Osuka. He went about his normal routine: tea, porridge, university, lunch. That afternoon he would go to the gym and then the steam room, and would return home to make himself the leftover tempura, sake, and tea. During the afternoon he frequently checked his emails, or would check the messages on their home phone. He had not heard from her all day.
During dinner he pawed at the letter, twirling and turning it behind his thumb and fingers, careful not to bend the edges. Upon finishing his second glass of sake, he left the table decidedly and retrieved the letter opener from his office desk. He came back and hesitated for a moment before ripping the sealed part of the envelope open, almost ripping the letter as he pulled it out of the envelope ravenously.
He unfolded the letter and in his wife’s calligraphic script, he read the following sentence:

I knew you couldn’t resist

Osuka

Moments later the telephone rang:
“Hello, Osuka”
“Is this Mr. Myamoto?”
“Yes”
“This is Orono Regional Hospital. We’re calling about your wife Osuka.”
At that Haruki, dropped the phone and collapsed onto the floor, weeping.