I tear it open carefully. Inside are several pages of his handwriting, plus some folded documents. There’s a faint coffee stain on the first page—I can picture him at his desk in that house he built with my dreams in mind, drinking coffee at dawn, agonizing over every word.
I take a shaky breath and begin reading.
Sophie,
I’ve started this letter seven times. Each time I think I’ve found the right words, then I realize there probably aren’t any. How do you compress five years of mistakes and regrets into something that makes sense? But I have to try.
When I left Bellrose five years ago, I convinced myself I was being practical. Mature. I believed success meant a six-figure salary and an impressive title. I thought I needed to become someone important to deserve you.
My hand trembles as I turn the page. His handwriting becomes more erratic in places, like he pressed harder when emotion took over.
The truth is, I was terrified. Not of failing professionally—of failing you. Of not being enough. Of trapping you in a small town when you deserved the world. So I chased what I thought would transform me into someone worthy. All I did was hollow myself out.
That first year in Seattle, I told myself I was building our future. That eventually you’d join me, or I’d return once I’d “made it.” But every promotion felt emptier without you there to celebrate with. Every achievement rang hollow.
I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. The next page details his major cases, his accolades, his increased salary—and how none of it filled the void.
Three years ago, I refused my first major partnership offer—a position at Winston & Gray in Chicago. Cameron was furious. I told him I wanted to focus on cases that helped actual people instead of faceless corporations. But I couldn’t even admit to myself the real reason: Chicago would take me even further from Bellrose. Further from any possibility of finding my way back to you.
He’s included a copy of the offer letter. $275,000 annual salary plus comprehensive benefits. His declination letter is dated three years ago, just like he said.
That’s when I bought the house. Not “my” house—our house, even if you never knew it existed. Every choice I made—the location on the hill, that marble island, the east-facing windows for morning light—I made thinking of you. Even if you never walked through that door. Even if you’d moved on with someone else. Even if you hated me too much to ever speak to me again. I needed to build something real that represented what I actually wanted. What I should have chosen five years ago instead of Seattle.
My vision blurs. I blink rapidly, and a tear drops onto the paper. I quickly dab it away before it can smudge his words.
The property deed is folded among the other documents. Purchased three years ago, exactly as he claimed. Long before he knew anything about my current life. Before he knew if I was single or married or so angry I’d slam doors in his face.
Last year, I started actively searching for positions in Bellrose. Not because I knew about the clinic’s troubles—discovering that was just timing. But because I finally had to face the truth: no amount of professional success was worth being away from home. Away from you.
I turned down three offers before accepting the position at Hargrove & Associates. Each would have meant better titles, bigger salaries. Each would have taken me further from Bellrose.
He’s included the rejection letters—Boston, San Francisco, London. The London firm offered nearly double his Seattle salary.
I’m not sharing this to impress you or make you feel obligated. I need you to understand this wasn’t some impulsive decision I made yesterday. My choice to stay in Bellrose hasbeen building for five years—ever since I realized what actually matters.
I don’t expect immediate forgiveness. I’m not asking you to forget the pain I caused or pretend the last five years didn’t happen. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove myself, one day at a time. When I said “always, you,” I meant it—I wasn’t mature enough to honor that promise back then. I am now.
If you need time, take it. If you need space, I’ll give you that. But I’m staying right here, Sophie. Not moving to New York or back to Seattle or anywhere else. This is where I belong—whether that means being with you or just living in the same town, watching you build a happy life from a distance.
Yours, always,
Zayn
I press the letter against my chest, feeling my heart thunder beneath it. Tears stream down my face unchecked, and I don’t even try to stop them. Five years. He’s been navigating his way back to me for five years, while I’ve been building walls to keep him out.
I’ve wasted so much energy looking backward, protecting myself from potential hurt. All I’ve accomplished is blocking any possibility of happiness.
I fold his letter carefully and tuck it into my pocket with the supporting documents—proof he made these choices years ago, not knowing if I’d ever discover them. His love didn’t suddenly reappear when he returned to Bellrose. It never left.
I take a steadying breath and check my reflection in the break room mirror. My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but something’s shifted in my expression—a determination I haven’tseen in years. I’m still scared, terrified actually. But fear isn’t driving anymore.
When I was eighteen, I didn’t fight for us. I stepped aside for his career and convinced myself that was maturity. We both got it wrong back then.
But we’re not those people anymore. We’ve both changed. And maybe that means we get a second chance to get it right.
CHAPTER 20
Where Wild Roses Bloom
