Ch. 10: The Letter

If someone had told her a year ago that she would be standing here, she would have laughed.

Emily crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Emily said. "I'm asking you to listen."

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. Money could buy a great many things, he had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Emily said. "I'm asking you to listen."

For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. Money could buy a great many things, he had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most.

Every choice had a price. Emily had known that for years, and still the knowing never made it easier.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

Some stories end. Others only pause to gather their strength. Theirs was the second kind.