“You’re wondering if he’s actually changed.”
“I’m wondering if I’m an idiot for even considering the possibility.”
Emma leaned back in her chair. “People can change, Indira.”
“Can they? Really?” I turned the letter over in my hands. “Or do they just get better at saying what you want to hear?”
“Only one way to find out.”
I stared at her. “You think I should respond?”
“I think you should do whatever feels right to you. But...” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve been seeing Vaughn for a while now, and he’s great—I can tell you really like him. But it seems like you’re both just having fun rather than any serious expectations. Unless I’m reading things wrong?”
“Vaughn makes me happy.”
“I know he does. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” She leaned forward. “But there’s also nothing wrong with getting closure, as long as it doesn’t come with letting someone back in who hurt you.”
“Dutch came with plenty of hurt.”
“The man you knew did. Maybe he’s different now.” Emma shrugged. “Or maybe he’s not. But you’ll never know unless you find out. And maybe you need to know. Maybe that’s the only way you’ll ever really move on.”
I wanted to argue with her, to point out all the reasons why responding would be stupid and dangerous and naive. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me in that Montana bar. The way he’d walked away from those women without hesitation. The way his eyes had followed me to the door, not possessive or demanding, but almost... hopeful.
“What would you do?” I asked.
“Honestly? I’d probably write back because I’d want to know what’s going on. But I’d set boundaries. Make it clear that a letter doesn’t erase what he did or entitle him to anything. That any communication is on my terms, not his. But that’s just me. You have to do what’s right for you.”
I nodded slowly, turning her words over in my mind.
“Just be careful,” Emma added. “You’ve come so far since you got here. I don’t want to see you get pulled back into something toxic.”
“I know.” I looked down at the letter, at Jacob’s signature at the bottom. “I know.”
We finished our coffee and talked about other things—Emma’s work drama, Sarah’s ongoing long distance saga with the ski instructor, Jessica’s wedding planning stress. Normal friend stuff. The kind of conversation I’d never been able tohave when I was with Dutch, because my whole social life had revolved around the club.
But underneath it all, the letter hummed in my purse like a living thing. Demanding attention. Demanding a response.
?
That night, I sat on my couch with a glass of wine and reread the letter for the dozenth time. Outside my window, the lights of Music Row glittered like scattered stars. My apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of someone playing guitar in the building next door.
I thought about Vaughn. About how easy things were with him. How uncomplicated.
I never worried about what he was doing when I wasn’t around. Never wondered if there were other women. Not because we’d made promises to each other but because I knew his story. His wife had cheated on him, destroyed their marriage, and he’d told me over whiskey one night that infidelity was a line he’d never cross.
We were having fun, enjoying each other’s company without expectations or demands. It was exactly what we’d both needed—something light, something that couldn’t hurt us the way we’d been hurt before.
Vaughn was safe. Not because he’d promised me forever, but because we’d both agreed not to make promises at all. And because I knew, deep down, that even without promises, he wouldn’t betray me.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about Dutch?
When you walked in on me with Crystal, I saw myself through your eyes for the first time. And I hated what I saw.
I wanted to believe it was just ego. Just my pride wanting validation.
But my finger kept tracing his signature.Jacob.He’d signed it Jacob.
I pulled out my laptop and opened a new email.
