You were going to be our daughter. That doesn't change justbecause Paul decided to throw away the best thing that ever happened to him.
All our love,
Donna and Rich
My nose stings, and I have to take a few deep breaths to get myself under control. That seems to be my constant state these last few days, either crying sad tears or happy tears. These are a bit of both.
The note is conflicting for several reasons.
It's beautifully written and genuine, not full of excuses or pleas for forgiveness. Donna's own pain resonates through her words. Rich, while more reserved than his wife, is still an echo I can feel within the letter. No doubt, he was sitting right next to her when she wrote it.
A small smile even comes to my lips when I see that she used the lilac stationery I had bought for her with the pretty floral design that matches my treasured cream one. Donna had gasped like I had presented her with theHope Diamondwhen I gave the flowery paper to her, squeezing me in a tight hug and whispering,"Thank you, honey."
So I know that she wrote this note with so much care, because that's the only way Donna O'Connor knows how to operate.
My hurt right now feels like a bruise in the process of healing, only painful when you go out of your way to press on it. In my mind, I can clearly picture the bruise on my heart, a horrible, deep purple color getting worse before it gets better. Bruises are only temporary and they heal with time.
My hurt is temporary. It just needs some time.
The words and the maternal presence attached to the letter feel healing. I bring the paper to my nose and am hit with a familiar combination. It's the distinct scent of the O'Connorhousehold, spearmint gum Donna always keeps in her purse, andChanel No. 5perfume.
The happy memories from the perfume's scent wash over me. Donna had always said she felt so classy when she wore that particular perfume, and Rich would buy her a new bottle every Christmas, presenting it to her with a flourish and addressing her as,"my very classy lady."
When we got engaged, I wasn't just excited to marry Paul, I was excited to be part of the warm and loving O'Connor family. I was excited to create my own family. Me, Paul, and a couple of kids.
That dream was picture-clear in my head for years.
Memories hit me hard, of Rich distracting Donna while she was trying to cook Christmas dinner, pulling her into his arms so they could dance toNat King Colearound the kitchen.
I would watch them with quiet admiration, this married couple of thirty-five years acting like newlyweds. Paul would wrap his arms around me as we watched them, his smile warm and fond, as if this were just something he witnessed every day.
I remember thinking that if this was the example of love Paul had growing up, then our happily ever after was going to be wonderful.
One day, he would twirl me around the kitchen as our kids watched, and we would setourexample.
Donna and Rich had accepted me almost immediately, and I think of all the holidays and family events I spent with them. Cooking with Donna in the kitchen, Rich and I playing cards in the living room, Donna and I sitting on the couch together as the O'Connor men and Paul's best friends, Brian and Chris, hooted and hollered while they watched football.
I was happy, building something that I never had.
I hadn't really allowed myself, sinceeverythinghappened, to think about losing Donna and Rich, too. That loss was going tobe as painful as the loss of Paul, if I'm being honest.
But now... there's a chance that Iwon'tlose them. That they want to still be involved in my life. That theydochoose me.
But I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Even though Paul betrayed me, I feel like I'm the one who is ruining his relationship with his parents. I don't want them to choose meoverhim—he's their son, he's theironlychild. Even though he hurt me, even though I hate him right now, I don't want him to lose his parents.
I don't want him to be alone.
Not alone, he has Elise,my thoughts taunt me cruelly.
And that's where the conflicting emotions come in.
I feel exhausted—mentally and physically.
Today was my last day at work for the foreseeable future, and coming home to this kind gesture and loving words undoes me. I can't help but hug the letter to my chest, a tear slipping down my cheek.
The entire way home, I sat in rush hour traffic, dreading the thought of having to run to the grocery store. I already resigned myself to being up late prepping meals for this week with the port surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning.
While I had been mentally organizing the logistics of what to cook and how to be time-efficient through the process, I stepped into my apartment and feltoff. It was subtle, thathair-standing-up-on-your-armssensation that tells you something is out of place.
