“Chai tea?” I plead.
Spencer smirks in my direction. “Why? Worried about the caffeine stunting your growth? Because the damage is done.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan. “You know I don’t like coffee. I’m recently open to matcha though.”
“That I can do.”
“Thank you, sister,” I singsong.
She scrambles to her feet, but her foot must be asleep because she winces and stumbles, grabbing the side of the tub to steady her. It’s not sturdy enough. She tips it, sending papers everywhere, skating across the epoxy floor like a gold-medal performance at the Winter Olympics.
“Ah, dammit,” she breathes.
We both drop to our hands and knees, collecting the scattered documents, photos, letters, bank statements. There’s so much junk in here it’s kind of exciting. After all these years, more moments of Mom to uncover. I pick up an orange letter envelope that slid farthest away and stand up with it, my curiosity piqued after seeing the name. “I thought Mom went by Beth. She hated when people called her Bettany.”
“She did.” Spencer drops a stack of paper back into the tub, holding out her hand for the letter. “The only people who called her Bettany were her parents.”
“I guess Grandma or Grandpa wrote her a letter.”
Spence shakes her head. “Not likely. They were estranged. Mom emancipated herself at seventeen. I never even met her mother and father.” She slips her finger under the flap and frees the letter, unfolding it as she reads. Slowly, almost ominously,my sister’s eyes widen as they shift from left to right, gobbling up the words like she’s starving. “Oh,” she whispers.
“What… What is it?”
Lips parted, Spencer presses the letter to her chest, and her eyes lock on to mine, unblinking. Filled with a look I rarely ever see on her face:Fear.
My growing anxiety forms a knot in my throat. “Who is it from?” I ask again more insistently.
She wets her lips, reluctant for some reason. “I didn’t know,” she murmurs. “I swear I didn’t know.”
I step forward, worried Spencer may go big-sister-protector on me and try to shield me from some disturbing revelation that is definitely mine to discover. Quick like a cobra, I snatch the letter from her grip before she can get rid of it.
Dear Bettany,
It’s been months and I’m tearing myself apart trying to figure out what to do next. I’ve dialed your number until my fingers ache, but you won’t pick up. So here I am, resorting to your favorite medium—letters—because maybe this time you’ll read my desperation.
I have no excuse good enough. The ugly truth is that I fell in love with you while I was still married. I know how it sounds—shameful, reckless—but from the very first moment I saw you, I lost any power to stop it. I fought it, honest, but loving you felt like breathing.
If there’s even a sliver of hope that you’re not done with me, I promise I’ll fix this wreck I’ve made. I’ll go to my wife and tell her I’m leaving, that I’m a coward for falling so hard for someone else, that I’m filled with shame. I’ll stand there, head bent, voice trembling, and admit that love hit me like a hurricane and knocked me off course. I’m bewitched, consumed…obsessed. The thought of a life with you and our baby terrifies me with how much I want it. I’d do anything to win you back, because as much as I love you, I’ll love that baby in your belly ten times more.
Please don’t take her away from me. We could be a family again. I can put the pieces back together. I’ll prove my loyalty to you, to Spencer, and to our daughter. Even if it takes every breath until my dying day, I will show you I can be gentle with your heart. I’ve never been this man before—a liar, a cheater. No. This, I swear, is love in its rawest, most twisted form. But it’s true love.
What more do you need me to say? What must I do? You want the moon? I’ll crawl across the sky to bring it down. The stars? They’ll all be yours. My heart? You already have it—every beat.
Please.
Please.
Please.
I know I may never hear from you again. Just writing that makes my chest hurt. I feel like I’ve already lost you, and the thought makes me hollow with grief. If this is truly over, I will respect your choice. I’ll learn to let go somehow. But I need you to open one more letter on the way: it unlocks a trust fund for our daughter. Half of my retirement, saved for whatever she might need.
Promise me you’ll tell her someday not just what I did, but how fiercely I feel about her. I have wonderful sons, but I always dreamt of a daughter. I even promised my mother on her deathbed that if I ever had a little girl, I’d keep her name alive. Whatever name you choose, will you whisper to her that I would’ve named her Charlotte? That each night I tuck my boys into bed, I’m wishing I could tuck in my baby Charlie, too?
I’m rambling because I’m terrified of silence. I don’t know what else to say…only that I’ll never stop hoping.
And I’ll never stop loving you.
-Liam
