There’s no time to process what it could mean when another follows.
But I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions over the news I’d gotten.
I huff in disbelief—sounds like a man. Though I’m not one to judge when all I’ve done is watch TV and weep.
It’s then that the napkins start coming in quick succession, and the realization of who’s on the other side of the door hits me like a meteor—hard and fast.
I said I wanted to end our arrangement because it felt wrong to keep you around under those pretenses.
While it might have been what brought us together, it isn’t what defines us. The memories we’ve made, the experiences we’vehad, and the fears we’ve overcome mean more to me than a fake title.
But going on as if everything was fine felt wrong, no matter how much I care about you. My avoidance wasn’t without reason, and if you’d let me, I’d really appreciate a moment to explain myself.
I meant it when I said I love you, and I hope the truth doesn’t change the way you feel about me.
When the napkins stop coming, and my shock subsides, I fling the door open to find Nate with a bouquet of red roses and a box of chocolates in his arms. There’s a faint smile on his face, but it falls when I push him in the chest. He jolts back from the force, and that’s when the wave of emotions runs through me.
Anger. Sadness. Longing.
No matter how many follow, the first one prevails.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is harsh, firm.
Nate’s eyes wander to the ground, lingering with shame. “Can I come in?” he asks.
I want to say yes, drop my act, and let him engulf me in his warmth until our hearts melt, pool at our feet, and solidify so we’re never separated again. But he hurt me badly and ignored me when he could have given me this so-called explanation to begin with. So I inch the door closed, leaving only a sliver of space to speak to him.
“You can tell me whatever you want to say from out there.”
His green eyes look heavy, full of hurt, and while the sight breaks my heart, I stand firm. He hands me the flowers and chocolates, and though I’m tempted to refuse, I end up taking them.
I’ll need the cacao for my next cry.
“I’m not sure where I should start,” he says on a loud sigh, meeting my gaze in what I can only describe as a shot ofdespair. “But do you remember when I asked you if you’d want to know what happened to your parents?” Nate holds out a manila envelope. “I think it’ll be necessary for you to find out. That is, if you’re willing to give us a second chance.”
I meet his gaze with hesitation, letting out a long breath as I take it from his hand. Our fingers brush, and a shock of recognition passes through me at his touch, but also the words scrawled in black Sharpie.
Thought I’d do you a favor.
The sentence leers at me like a taunt, a quiet threat I know will break my heart. And from the difference in handwriting on the napkins, I know Nate didn’t write this.
Every brain cell in my body is telling me not to go through with this. To put the past where it belongs and move on with my growth. But my heart, the part of me that fell so deeply for the man in front of me, wants to see this through to the end.
With shaky hands, I reach in and pull out an imperfect stack of papers. They look ragged, as though someone had pondered over these pages with sweaty palms for way too long and slammed them against every imaginable surface.
I flip through the document, stopping when highlighted words grab my attention.
Leslie and Johnson Brown.
The two people who brought me into this world and left me before their time.
A little more reading shows this to be the report detailing their plane crash—the very one that got buried in their so-called failed investigation. The cause? Defect by a novel alloy.
“Remember when I told you that Carter stole my idea in college and set up his own company?”
I tilt my head in confusion, wondering why he’s even telling me this. But when the puzzle pieces all click together, tears well in my own eyes before I can stop them.
“I’m so sorry, Vivienne. This is all my fault. If I had known—”
