Page 117 of Love in Fine Print

“Because your father didn’t leavemea letter.”

“You didn’t give me a letter my dead father wrote to me because you were jealous you didn’t have one?” I could see moisture welling up in Olivia’s bottom lids, and her hands were shaking as she held the letter her father had written to her all those years ago.

“At the time I was?—"

“Just answer the question.” Olivia interrupted her. “Did you withhold this letter,myletter, because you were jealous that he didn’t write you one?”

I could see the shame in her mother’s eyes as she admitted, “Yes.”

“You need to go, Mother.”

Ms. Bradshaw reached her arm out. “Olivia, please, let me explain?—”

Olivia stepped back and opened the door. Her expression was neutral, unreadable, but in her eyes, I could see the pain, the anger. “No. You need to go.”

Ms. Bradshaw sighed as she walked past her daughter. “I know you’re upset now, but I do have things to say. Please call me when you’re ready to hear them.” She then turned toward me. “Nice meeting you, Ben.”

Instead of responding, I simply nodded. It felt like any pleasantries would be a betrayal to Olivia.

With that, her mother left. As soon as she was gone, I took a step toward Olivia to pull her into my arms, but she stepped back.

“I need to go.”

“Go? Go where?” I asked.

“I don’t…I just…I need to go.”

I was worried about her driving in her state of mind.

“I’ll drive you anywhere?—”

“No. I just…I want to be alone.”

Helpless was the only way to describe how I felt as I watched Olivia turn and walk out the door. My first instinct was to follow her to make sure she was okay, but I knew that wasn’t what she wanted.

She wanted to be alone, and even if it killed me, I needed to respect that.

51

OLIVIA

My hands were shakingas I drove away from Ben’s house, and tears fell down my face. Shutting Ben out was not the most mature move, but whenever emotions started to surface, they triggered a fight or flight response. Typically, I chose flight.

So many emotions were competing for the number one spot in me I wasn’t sure how to process them. Most of them were misplaced. I knew that.

Walking in and finding Ben and my mother laughing together felt like a betrayal. I knew it wasn’t his fault. Bianca Bradshaw was nothing if not charming. She knew exactly how to manipulate people.

Seeing the two of them brought back so many memories of coming home and finding my father at the penthouse. They would be laughing and talking, and then the next thing I knew, she’d start a new renovation. She was only ever kind to him when she wanted something. I’d seen the pattern play out for seven years until her greed, her selfishness, her incessant need to buy more, have more, put him in an early grave.

Ben, his house, Dolly, PB and J, they had been my safe place. My happy place. Now, that was tainted.

Ben hadn’t done anything wrong. I knew that logically. He had tried to support me. Leaving so abruptly was not because I was upset about finding him and my mom talking. I just needed to be away from him when I opened my letter. I needed to be at my home.

The drive across town, back to my condo, took about twenty minutes, but it felt like twenty hours. I kept glancing over at the yellow-tinged envelope on the passenger seat. What had my father told me? Why hadn’t Uncle Mort just given the letter directly to me? When had he written me the letter? They found him unconscious in his apartment after a heart attack, and then he spent three months in a coma.

Once I made it inside my condo, I turned on the lights and looked around. I hadn’t been back here since the day of my wedding. It felt cold. Impersonal. Lacking in some way. This used to be my oasis. My retreat. My sanctum. Now it felt different. It felt like a place, not a home. Ben’s house felt like a home. Or at least it had before my mother had shown up there.

I lowered onto my couch and took a deep breath as I looked down at the envelope in my hands. The emotions I’d kept at bay overwhelmed me. Seeing my dad’s handwriting again caused the tears that were pooled in my eyes to begin to fall down my cheeks. I missed him so much. I couldn’t believe my mother had kept this letter from me for over twenty years. Actually, I could believe it. But that didn’t mean her cruelty didn’t still sting.

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