“We never did.” Delilah pushes the box toward me. “My grandmother dug it up a few years after we buried it. She was worried we wouldn’t be able to find it again. So she gave it to my mom for safekeeping.”
“For twenty years.”
“For twenty years.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Mom brought it to me last night. And I read what was inside.”
My stomach drops.
I don’t remember exactly what I wrote. I wasseventeen and stupid and so in love it felt like drowning. I probably said things that were embarrassing. Dramatic. Too much.
“Including,” Delilah continues, “the letter you wrote me.”
Oh no.
“Delilah—”
“You said you’d wait for me.” Her eyes are bright. “However long it took. You said I was worth waiting for.”
The coffee shop feels very small. Very quiet. Michelle is aggressively organizing pastries behind the counter, definitely not listening.
“I meant it,” I say. Because I did. Because I still do.
“I know.” A tear slides down her cheek, and she swipes at it impatiently. “That’s the problem. You meant it, and I left anyway. Twice. And I never told you why.”
This is it. Whatever she’s been carrying for twenty years, she’s about to hand it to me.
“Tell me,” I say. “Please.”
Delilah takes a shaky breath.
“The first time—when I was seventeen—my mom said things about you. That you weren’t going anywhere. That you had small-town dreamsand I should focus on college instead of some boy who played guitar on the boardwalk.”
I knew Eleanor hadn’t approved of me. I hadn’t realized the words had cut that deep.
“That’s why you left?”
“Partly. Mostly I was seventeen and scared and didn’t know how to fight for what I wanted.” She wipes her cheek again. “But the second time—when I was twenty-seven—that was different.”
This is the one I need to understand. The one that shattered me.
“What happened?”
“I overheard you.” Her voice drops. “You were talking to someone—Mike, I think. You said you wanted to make it big, but you couldn’t leave. Not when you finally had me.”
The words hit like a fist to the chest.
I remember that conversation. I was explaining why I wasn’t going to LA for the audition Mike had set up. I’d said exactly what Delilah described, because it was true. I couldn’t leave her. Not again. Not after waiting ten years to get her back.
“You heard that,” I say slowly, “and you thought?—”
“I thought I was your anchor.” Her voice cracks. “First your dad kept you here because he was sick.And then me. I couldn’t be the reason you never chased your dreams. I couldn’t be the thing that held you back from becoming who you were supposed to be.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.” She laughs, but it’s bitter. Broken. “I told myself it was for your own good. That you’d finally go after what you wanted if I wasn’t there to weigh you down. And I was right, wasn’t I? I left, and you became famous. You wrote songs that the whole world loves. You became exactly who you were supposed to be.”
I stare at her.
All these years. She thought she washolding me back?
