Page 91 of Perfect Imperfections

He’d taken the week off work to sort out all the legal issues, arranging for Claire’s funeral, processing the death certificate, speaking to her lawyer about her last will and testament. Claire had been an only child and her parents died before he’d ever met her, so as her ex-husband, it listed him as her next of kin. All the paperwork had kept him busy, but there’d been a lot of moments the past few days where his thoughts had drifted to Ellie.

It was strange not to see her, talk to her, text her. In such a short time, she’d become such an important part of his daily life. It felt like he was missing an organ. That’s how integral the woman had become to him. But he was trying to do the right thing. For Ellie. Even if it was slowly ripping his damn soul to shreds every day he went without her.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Blinking, he glanced down as his daughter’s statement pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Okay, go wash up and I’ll start making dinner.”

She skipped off to the bathroom. He headed toward the kitchen, shifting through the pile of mail he’d grabbed from the mailbox on their way inside the house. Bills, junk mail, flyers, nothing of note. Until he came to a large manila envelope with his name and Claire’s attorney’s name in the upper left-hand corner.

He’d been receiving correspondence from the agency since receiving the news of his ex’s passing. Legal stuff mostly, things he needed to sign. When he opened the envelope, he expected more documents, but what he pulled out was another, smaller envelope with his name scrawled on it in Claire’s handwriting. There was also a slip of paper from the attorney.

He clutched the letter from his former wife in his hand tightly as he read the attorney’s letter first.

Dear Mr. Green,

Again, I would like to extend my deepest sympathies for your loss. Your former spouse left this letter in our care to be delivered to you in the event of her demise.

Sincerely,

Aaron Stedman

Stedman, Bernstein, and Rhodes

She’d written him a letter to be delivered in the event of her death? What the hell did that mean? Only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and ripped open the envelope. It shocked him again to find yet another envelope in this one, along with a sheet of paper. This envelope was standard letter size, from Claire—judging by the identical handwriting—but addressed to Charlotte.

His heart pounded. She’d written a letter to their daughter. What could she have said? Did this mean she cared? Thought about Charlotte? If she had, why hadn’t she visited? He wanted to rip open the envelope and scan the note for answers, but he wouldn’t do that. It was addressed to his daughter from her mother. He wouldn’t take that away from her.

Besides—he glanced at the handwritten page still sitting in the middle envelope—it appeared he had his own letter to read. Hopefully, it would contain some damn answers.

He carefully set his daughter’s letter on the counter and unfolded the slip of paper, presumably meant for him. When he saw the neatly rounded letters of his ex-wife’s handwriting, a flood of memories filled his mind. Their first meeting in the university’s library, first date at mini golf, first kiss…it hadn’t always been bad between them. They’d loved each other once. Their time together hadn’t been a waste, not when it created Charlotte.

Letting out a painful breath, he focused on the words on the paper.

Sullivan,

If you’re reading this, I’m dead.

Too “spy movie” cliché?

Claire had always had a darker sense of humor.

I hope you never receive this letter because if you do, it means I really am gone, and I never got the chance to apologize.

His heart flipped in his chest, reading the last word.

I’ve done a lot of horrible things in my life. I cheated on my finals in AP Chem. I stole my roommate’s blue sweater and told her it got lost in the laundry. I might have faked it that first time we were together (nothing against you, I was just too nervous and didn’t want you to feel bad). But the worst thing I ever did, the most selfish, was abandoning you and Charlotte.

His vision blurred, but he blinked away the tears, determined to get through this.

I was in a bad place for a long time. I know you think it was having Charlotte, the pain and medication they prescribed me after, that made me fall into my addiction, but it wasn’t. Those were just excuses, symptoms to blame on a bigger problem I’d been hiding for years. I’ve always struggled, but I was taught to hide my problems. Brush them under a rug and put on a happy face. In my house you didn’t foist your problems on other people. You handled them yourself.

An uncomfortable ache burned in the center of his chest. Her words were hitting a little too close to home for him right now. How had he not seen his ex-wife was just like him? Hiding her pain, her needs, because it was what she thought she was supposed to do. Looked like they had more in common than he thought.

But after I had Charlotte, I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t put on a happy face anymore. The drugs they gave me made me feel content at first, but then I came to discover I needed more and more to get back to that place of bliss. The place where nothing mattered but the light, fluffy feeling I got whenever I shook that bottle, knowing oblivion was on its way.

I knew I was using the pills as a cover—a temporary solution that eventually turned into an even bigger problem. I’m so sorry I never talked to you or told you how I was really feeling. I shut you out. I thought I could handle everything on my own and that was wrong. I left because I thought you and Charlotte would be better off without me.

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