But then I get to week six. It’s crumpled, and I smooth it out best I can before reading.
Yesterday was the first time I’ve been clean and thought—I’d rather be dead.
That thought came right after Tobias and Nina told me you’d filed for divorce.
I sniff, wiping at my nose. It kills me to go back here… to when I filed.
Just when I started to believe in something again, you gave up on me.
It feels like I was halfway up the fucking mountain, finally breathing, and you shoved me off the edge.
I’m mad at you, Alley. God, I’m so fucking mad at you.
A sob rips from me. Full-on ugly crying now. This must be the one he almost tossed. His anger slices, and I let it. I don’t excuse it. I don’t swallow it whole. I just hold it long enough to see his pain. But I still see me.
By the time I finish I can hardly breathe.
I love you more than this life. More than fucking air.
More than myself.
Love,
Jensen
I press the letter to my chest, shaking.
My sobs eventually fade, and when I finally reach for week seven, I brace myself.
It’s short. Numb. Like after he learned about the divorce, he just gave up on us. It’s almost like he didn’t even want to write me.
Then week eight shifts. A clarity I haven’t seen yet. He writes about a session with Nina and a book he read that unlocked something—stoicism, acceptance. Suddenly he isn’t in denial. He isn’t begging or grasping for a way to fix it. It’s like he looked in the mirror, saw the wreckage he caused, and accepted it.
I’m not glad this happened. I could never say that because there were far too many casualties. Yours being the worst. But it’s hard to say I’d do it different, because I’m grateful for what I’m learning. What’s done is done. I may never be forgiven, but I can live with that because I can finally live with me.
By week nine, confidence creeps back in. Like he’s learning to stand again. Determined to be whole—to be great—with or without me.
I know I can be happy now no matter what happens. It’d just be a hell of a lot better if I got to share that with you.
My heart lifts with pride, but fear sneaks in too, along with a little envy. Because if he can be happy without me,does he even need me? And why can’t I have that same confidence—knowing I could be happy without him?Every time I’ve imagined a life without Jensen, I can’t picture myself being happy. Maybe eventually I could be, but the difference between now and a few months ago is drastic. I was in the pits of despair, and now? Regardless of the fear that still lingers, I’m happy… because of Jensen.
But is that a good thing? It is, and it isn’t. Maybe it’s time I do the same kind of work he’s done. For me. It’s not about measuring up to him. It’s about finding my own footing. Jensendid. He learned to stand on his own again. Maybe that’s the key to all this. Maybe that’s how we’ll finally stand a chance together.
I continue. Week ten has me melting.
Last night I had a dream about you. A sex dream.
You climbed into my bed, naked, pressing your ass into me like you couldn’t get close enough. You’re so damn sexy, Al. I woke up aching for you. Yeah, I was horny, but mostly just missing us and the way we connected. That part of me that was lost for a while, it’s back now. I feel like me again.
Hot. Honest. Pure Jensen.
Week eleven seals everything up and ties it into a bow.
I’m not done. I’m just steadier. Matt says he hears it in my voice.
I set the letters down and stare at the wall, drained, trying to process. My nose is raw and stuffy, my face blotchy, my thoughts racing. I stumble to the bathroom, splash cold water over my cheeks, and blow my nose.
I climb back into bed, the letters still scattered across the sheets. I pick one up, thumb brushing the ink, lean back against the headboard, and start reading again. His words bleed into me—grief, confusion, clarity, all swirling together.
