"I still don't understand why," I say, and my voice sounds small. "It doesn’t make sense. What does he get out of it?"
Luna looks at me with something that might be exasperation or affection or both. "Maybe that's exactly the point, Rosie. Maybe he's done being strategic. Maybe he's just trying to do the right thing because it's right, not because it gets him something."
I open my laptop again and pull up the most recent email from Seamus.
My finger hovers over it. I'm terrified of what's inside—more carefully crafted explanations that sound good but mean nothing, or worse, raw honesty that will make me question everything I've convinced myself is true about him and us and whether any of this was ever real.
I click it open.
Rosanna,
I don't expect you to read this. But I need to say this anyway.
You were right. About all of it. I kept the Shay secret because I was afraid. I didn't tell you about the board's plans because I was a coward. I accused you of using me when you were just trying to love me because I've spent so long being used that I couldn't recognize the real thing when it was standing right in front of me.
I don't know if you'll ever trust me again.
But I'm going to try anyway. Not because I think it will change your mind.
But because you taught me something important: some things are worth fighting for even when you know you'll probably lose. Some things matter more than protecting yourself from pain.
The Heritage Street building is being designated as a landmark. The demolition is stopped.
You were right. It matters.
I'm also placing two of my executives on administrative leave pending an ethics investigation. I think they crossed lines. I need to know if that’s true.
None of this fixes what I did to you. None of this proves I'm capable of being the partner you need. But I wanted you to know: I’m trying to do this differently. Even if I’m too late.
I love you. Both versions of you—Anna and Rosanna, though they were always the same person. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I kept us separated because I was too afraid to merge them into one honest relationship.
I understand if you can't forgive that. I understand if the damage is too deep to repair. But I needed you to know that my feelings were always real. Shay's feelings, Seamus's feelings—they were the same feelings. I was just too broken to show you all of them at once.
You don't owe me anything. Not a response, not forgiveness, not another chance. But if you ever want to talk—really talk, no more secrets or strategic withholding—I'll be here.
— Seamus
(P.S. - I signed the advocacy group retainer. I know it's too late to help with the acquisition, but maybe they can do something with the landmark designation. Maybe they can help protect other buildings before they get to this point. I should have done it when you first asked. I'm sorry I didn't.)
I read it twice, then three times. And I think about the emails I've been reading all morning—years of Shay being vulnerable and honest in ways Seamus couldn't manage in person. Trying to tell me how he felt, trying to bridge the gap between who he was as my pen pal and who he was as my husband, just never finding the courage to make it explicit.
He's the same person who's been trying to tell me he loved me in every email, every carefully chosen word, every moment of honesty he could manage through the safety of distance.
And now he's trying to tell me in person.
Without the distance.
I glance at my Seamus Project sketchbook.
Maybe I can do the same.
Chapter thirty-eight
Seamus
The press conference room at O'MalleyMart headquarters is packed—reporters from every major outlet, cameras from local and national news, and a crowd of community members from the Heritage Street neighborhood.
They're standing in the back, arms crossed, expressions ranging from skeptical to hostile. They’re here to watch me justify destroying their history.
