Chapter 7 - The Letter
Erin read it first.
I don't know why I handed it to her instead of reading it myself. Maybe my hands weren't steady enough. Maybe I needed to watch somebody else's face to know how I was supposed to feel about whatever was inside.
She read it standing at the kitchen counter in her pajamas, her coffee going cold next to her elbow. I watched her expression move through a few things I couldn't name.
When she finished, she set it down and didn't say anything for a second.
"Mom."
"Just tell me."
She turned it around and slid it across the counter.
I read it.
Wade's handwriting. Neat, leaning a little to the right, the same as it looked on the grocery lists he used to stick to the fridge.
Nora — if you're reading this, then something went wrong that I couldn't stop. I need you to understand that everything I felt for you was real. The love was real. The life we were building was real. What happened with Sabrina was a failure in me, not a reflection of what you mean to me.
I know that's not enough. I know sorry isn't enough. But I need you to know I ended it. I chose you. Every single day since we met, I chose you.
I also have to tell you something I should have said before we got married. Sabrina and I were together for three years. I ended it when I met you, but I lied about the history. I told you it was nothing serious because I was afraid of losing you. That was a coward's move.
The pregnancy this year — I should have told you the day I found out. I didn't, because I was terrified. Not of you. Of losing what we had. I kept telling myself it would sort itself out and you'd never have to know and I could keep all of it off you.
I understand now that I was keeping it off myself.
I'm sorry, Nora. Not for loving you. For being too scared to deserve it.
I set the letter on the counter.
"He wrote that two weeks after the wedding," Erin said. "Two weeks in, he already knew the whole thing might come down. And instead of coming to you — instead of sitting you down and telling you — he wrote a letter and handed it to her to keep in a drawer."
"Yes."
"That's not guilt, Mom. That's an insurance policy."
I looked at the paper.
"I know."
"He wasn't protecting you. He was protecting his side of the story. He wanted to make sure that if it all came out, you'd have something in his handwriting that made him sound like a decent guy who slipped up once." Her voice stayed careful. Not angry. Just clear. "He was managing you. Even then. Even in the apology."
I hadn't put it in those words. The second she said them, they fit like a key.
"He called me this morning," I said. "While I was at the coffee shop. I didn't pick up."
"Are you going to call him back?"
"I don't know yet."
Erin picked up her coffee, realized it was cold, set it back down.
"Can I say something without you thinking I'm pushing?"
"Yes."
"I don't think he's a monster," she said. "I think he's a guy who got scared and made selfish choices and kept making them because nobody ever made him stop." She paused. "But I also think you deserve somebody who tells you the truth when it's hard. Not somebody who writes the apology ahead of time in case he gets caught."
I looked at my daughter. Too thin. Circles under her eyes. Still in her pajamas at eight-thirty in the morning. And somehow the clearest head in the room.
"When did you get so smart?" I asked.
"Had a month by myself to think." A small, worn-out smile. "Turns out that's good for something."
I folded the letter back into the envelope.
"I'm going to call a lawyer," I said. "Just to understand my options. I'm not deciding anything today."
"That sounds right."
"And I'm going to need you to stay a while. If you're willing."
She looked at me steady. "I already told Tessa to box up my stuff and ship it."
I reached across the counter and put my hand over hers. We stayed like that a minute. The kitchen was quiet. The letter sat between us in its envelope.
Then my phone rang. Wade's name on the screen.
Erin looked at it. Then at me.
I let it ring. When it went to voicemail, I turned the phone face-down.
May you like
"Okay," I said. "Let's figure out breakfast."
She got up to reheat her coffee. And for the first time since she'd knocked on that door, something small and solid settled into my chest. Not peace. Not yet. But the start of knowing what I was going to do.
