“Mia.”
I wanted to be strong, and I was. But hearing him say my name stripped me. My body shuddered, and the tears began to fall. The brush in my hand fell to the ground, splattering green paint on the wooden planks of the gazebo.
“I can’t look at you yet. Please say what you have to say,” I begged.
I knew I’d survive whatever came next. But I wasn’t ready to see him. I’d thought I was, but just hearing him was wrecking me right now.
“Okay,” he agreed.
The sound of a piece of paper wrinkling in his hands filled the air. Maybe he’d prepared a speech. Although that didn’t really seem like his style.
“I wrote a hate/forgiveness letter. And I need to read it to someone aloud. You know the drill. I am hoping that you’ll be the person to hear it, to help me let go. Will you?” His voice was more confident and not pain-filled like the last time I’d heard him speak.
I nodded, knowing how powerful forgiveness was and hoping that whoever he was about to read about would help him move on.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He took in a deep breath, I heard the crinkle of his fingers gripping that paper so much that I thought it might rip in his hands. My own fingers dug into my yellow sundress with the same intensity as I stared at the painting before me, not really seeing it as he started reading.
“Dear Logan…”
