She gave a shuddering breath before grabbing her handbag and opening it. With a sad smile, she produced a stack of letters. I frowned as she placed them on my lap.
A sense ofdeja vutrickled down my spine as my eyes shifted over the feminine cursive writing. A crippling wave of grief had me sucking my breath in a sharp inhale. I knew instantly whose handwriting it belonged to.
"Hannah," I breathed.
"I found them when I was cleaning out my room. Do you remember when Hannah used to send me letters in college?"
I did. Because I was usually with her when she wrote them. Even though it was easier to just pick up the phone and call her sister, Hannah preferred writing letters, updating Sarah about her college life and our relationship. It was a habit she picked up after summers spent away at camp. She would keep in touch with her new friends across the country via letter writing and fell in love with communicating that way.
I recalled laying on Hannah's tiny bed, tossing a ball in the air while she scribbled out a letter. Or quietly studying with her legs on my lap. I always delivered them for her since the post office was near my apartment. When we moved in together, I used to lie with my head on her lap as she read me out a few lines. She missed her family. I shouldn't have been surprised that when I broached the subject of leaving New Haven, Hannah changed her tune and begged to stay. If only I didn't push back at her so hard.
"She used to write about you a lot. Before I even met you, I felt like I knew you."
Tears blurred my vision as I tried to concentrate on the words swimming on the pages.
“Brian got me diamond earrings for my birthday. He said he saved for four months for them. He's amazing, and I can't wait to bring him home for Christmas.”
We’d only been dating just under a year. Even then, I knew she was the one for me. You didn't just buy your girlfriend of less than a year diamond earrings if you didn't already know she was your end game. That Christmas was the first time I met her family—at that time, it included her dad, Frank. They instantly welcomed me into their fold. It felt like I was always meant to be part of their family.
The guilt I felt at ignoring their calls these past few weeks ate at me.
“Mom and Dad said they love Brian. Having their approval means so much—not that I ever doubted they wouldn't. I've definitely found my soulmate. I can't wait to do life with him.”
Renewed grief billowed down me as I read those last words. "Life" turned out to be eight short years. Even when we received her terminal diagnosis, we didn't have time to come to terms with her sickness—to spend quality time being alone together and saying all the things left unsaid. Within three weeks, Hannah was dead. I never got a chance to tell her how sorry I was for our stupid argument about staying in New Haven. It all seemed so trivial now.
"I just miss her so much," Sarah whispered as she twisted her hands on her lap. "I can't imagine what it's like for you."
Like hell.
That's what it felt like. The grief got easier as time went on, but there would always be a melancholy deep in my soul. Every time I felt like I could breathe a little easier, start to move on and be happy again, something else came up to remind me of her.
Like a stack of old letters detailing our love story.
As we read Hannah's letters together, Sarah moved closer and leaned her head on my shoulder.
"What do you miss most about her?"
Fresh tears built behind my eyelids. I blinked them away. What did I miss most about my wife? I tried to speak, but the words were caught in my throat.
Her heart. Her compassion. Her sense of humor. Her love.
"Everything," I finally croaked.
I didn't even tense when Sarah's small hand landed on my thigh, rubbing it in soothing circles.
"She's one in a million," Sarah whispered. "I don't know how you'll ever meet someone who could compare to her."
Dark hair and soul-searing blue eyes flashed in my mind briefly before I pushed the image away.
"I never will."
Chapter 12
Maria
My eyes bounced around the restaurant, excitement fluttering in my stomach as I took in the elegant decor. I’d been to nice restaurants before, but nothingthisfancy.
There were no bright strobe lights or loud classic rock music that I had to shout over to be heard. Not that my dates cared one lick of what I had to say.
