“Thanks, Meg. Appreciate that. And thanks for dinner.”
I stareat the stack of letters in my hand. I’m in my closet, and it’s well past one in the morning. I can’t sleep.
Tonight got to me. I’m not exactly sure why—Megan’s poking, my own insecurities—either way, my head’s a mess.
On the surface, it’s all wins—she reached for my hand, called me babe, invited me to hang with her friends. Even kissed me goodnight on Saturday.
But underneath it all, I feel the weight of the mountain I still have to climb. Earning Alley’s trust again. Her refusal to talk about the past. The fact that she lives in Chicago now. She has a job, a life, friends. She’s not just visiting. And last night? She looked happy. She’s settling in. Making Chicago her home.
I should be feeling better. Hopeful, even. But the more I think about my time with Alley, the more confused I am. Does she think we’ll just go back to normal with a massive fucking elephant in the room? We don’t need to unpack every detail of our history, but to never talk about it? Ever?
I shuffle through the letters. I have no idea what half of them say. I was in such a raw, vulnerable place when I wrote them—every emotion imaginable flooding through me.
I’m not sure which version of me ended up on the page.
I get to the last one. Week eleven. That’s another thing—she still hasn’t read my letter. Week twelve is missing. I’d hoped she would’ve read it by now. That it might give her a push toward me.
Maybe she did and didn’t say anything. Maybe that’s why she’s been more open.
Or maybe she still doesn’t know what she wants, and I’ll be back in that damn lawyer’s office in a few weeks.
Shit.I press my fingers to my forehead, rubbing hard. I’m going to drive myself crazy.
I pull week six from the stack—November second. Two days after I found out she filed.
I grip the letter, swallowing back the nausea rising. I can’t go back to that headspace. To how I felt when I wrote this.
I’ve hit some lows in my life. Done some shit. Felt the worst of it. But that day? That day gutted me in a way nothing else ever has.
I would’ve rather been detoxing.
I let out a heavy breath.That’s not going to happen. I’m not the guy who wrote this.
To prove myself right, I slide my finger under the seal of the envelope and pull the letter out. My hands shake. I have no idea why. Maybe part of me’s afraid to confront my past.
Just like Alley.
I unfold the paper and read.
Alley,
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.
Don’t worry. I’m not planning to give you this letter.
Ever.
Because I’m too fucking angry.
I’m angry at everyone today. At Tobias. At Nina. At whoever the fuck is in charge up there, the universe, God, fate. I don’t know. And I don’t care. I hate them all.
I’ve spent the past month doing everything they’ve asked of me. Surrendering. Trusting. Writing my inventory. Owning my shit. Digging into the ways I’ve hurt people. Clinging to the idea that something greater could help me find peace.
Yeah. Fuck that.
Just when I started to believe in something again… you gave up on me.
