What did you say to someone who’d broken your heart and then apparently learned from it?
I stared at the blank screen for a long time. The cursor blinked at me, waiting.
Dear Dutch,I typed, then immediately deleted it. Too formal. Too distant.
Dutch,I tried again. Better. More personal without being intimate.
But what came next? What was I trying to say?
I wanted to tell him that his letter had meant something. That seeing his accountability, his self-awareness, had shifted something inside me. But I also wanted to protect myself. To make it clear that a well-written apology didn’t erase months of betrayal.
I thought about what Emma had said.Set boundaries. Make it clear that any communication is on your terms, not his.
I started typing again, then stopped. Deleted everything.
The truth was, I didn’t know what I wanted. Didn’t know if responding was the first step toward closure or the first step back into a world I’d fought so hard to escape.
I closed my laptop and set it aside. The email could wait. I needed time to think, time to process, time to figure out what I actually wanted to say—if anything.
But as I got ready for bed, brushing my teeth and washing my face and pulling on the oversized t-shirt I slept in, I couldn’tshake the feeling that something had shifted. That the letter had cracked open a door I’d thought was sealed forever.
I climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, Dutch’s words running through my head on an endless loop.
I hope you’re happy. I hope Nashville is everything you wanted it to be. I hope you’ve found someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.
The thing was, I had found someone. Vaughn was good and kind and everything I’d thought I wanted. And I was happy—genuinely happy—for the first time in longer than I could remember.
So why did reading Dutch’s letter make me feel like something was still missing?
I pulled the letter out of my nightstand drawer and read it one more time.
Jacob.
I folded it and put it back in the drawer. Tomorrow I would think about whether to respond. Tonight, I would try to sleep.
But sleep didn’t come easily. And when it finally did, I dreamed of gray eyes and a voice calling me home.
Chapter 14
?
— Dutch —
Two weeks after I’d slid that envelope into Indira’s mailbox, her response hit my inbox.
I’d been back in Millfield for over a week by then, trying not to wonder if she’d thrown my letter away without reading it. My hand froze on the mouse when I saw her name.
I read the message fifty times before I could process what it actually said. She wanted to talk. On her terms, with her boundaries.
After months of silence, Indira was giving me a chance.
Don’t fuck this up.
Indira,
I agree to all your conditions. Thank you for being willing to talk.
I know I don’t deserve your time or attention, but I’m grateful for both.
