Page 32 of Dearest Ronan

I refuse to deprive ourselves of the love we deserve in exchange for long gone memories. Someone better for her is out there, just how someone is out there for me. With that thought, Anika’s face flashes through my mind. I want us together, but I have to be sure it’s what she wants.

No more mistakes or forcing anyone into feeling trapped. I need time to heal, and she needs time to live.

It hurts like hell, but I love Anika too much to doom her to a relationship minutes after a divorce. Maybe that’s where Carolyn and I went wrong. We hadn’t lived, hadn’t experienced life as we wanted. So, rather than grow together, we grew apart.

I love Anika too much for that.

All I can do is let her go, and hope (and fucking pray), that she grows back to me.

Eventually.

Ronan

12 months later

Twelve fucking months without my Anika.

In these twelve months all I’ve done is go to work and self-reflect.

I self-reflect in therapy.

I self-reflect while stalking Anika’s social media. Side note, she’s killing it. Last week, she designed the interior of a tiny home—a legit tiny home with only about three hundred square feet. She transformed the shed-like home into a modern cabin, complete with a master bedroom loft, storage hidden underneath each stair, sleek black counters with subtlecupboards tucked inside for pots, pans, and dishes. It was fucking beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, her following has flourished, too. People all over the world follow her IG for before and after pictures, and I swear to fuck she gets thousands of comments on every twitter post she makes regarding her services. But I digress.

Anyway, I don’t attend weekly therapy anymore, but I do spend ten minutes everyday drinking coffee on my apartment balcony to reinforce what I’ve learned over the past year. Carolyn and I don’t talk, but in the rare times I’ve seen her at restaurants or in town, we’ve remained friendly. Last I heard she moved to the city. Not surprising. Carolyn was always too big for this town.

So yeah, I’m doing okay. I continue to hope that Anika returns to me, but I don’t push it.

Learning to live as a single man has been a challenge, but a sense of peace is finally beginning to wash over me. I have to be okay with myself before I can be okay with satisfying another person. I refuse to let poison reenter my veins as it had once before.

After strolling to my kitchen table, I retrieve another one of Anika’s letters. As I begin reading it, it feels as if it’s the first time. Despite having perused each letter repeatedly to the point of memorization, I still approach it with care each time.

Anika

16 months after that

The last two years have flown by. After accepting the job in Idaho, I moved into a small apartment and enrolled online part-time at the community college in town. Now, I’ve earned two certificates in project management and accounting to assist in my freelance work.

Just as excitingly, working with my friend Indy has been a dream. Indy and I were on the ground floor, starting her business from scratch. Together, we formulated a business plan, rolled in investors, and built a portfolio that would make any interior designer weep with jealously.

With my help, Indy is an icon. Month after month, her profits have doubled. Last week she even paid off her loans months early and is officially out of the black.

And I did that. I helped her.

About three months ago, I broached the idea of returning home. Indy and I both ugly cried, but she understands. When I decide to leave, she’s going to write a glowing review for my own future business and is helping me set up a personal portfolio that showcases all of my solo projects.

Ronan and I have limited contact. Not because I want to, but because I need to focus, and he needs to heal from his divorce. We’ve only spoken on the phone during holidays and birthdays, and text maybe once a month.

It wasn’t until I physically distanced us that I realized just how much I compared our relationship to his ex-wife. He carried hurt and guilt, while I carried high expectations. He hid our relationship, so I agonized about why he’s so ashamed of me while he proudly displayed Carolyn like a trophy. It wasn’t good for either of us.

Speaking of Carolyn she, oddly enough, flew out to visit me a few months ago. We met at a small Ma and Pop diner in town. While I fidgeted in my seat, her back remained straight and poised. I expected a throw down of sorts, but it was the opposite, actually.

Carolyn told me she held on to Ronan like a security blanket. Once a upon a time, they were in love, but they fell out just as quickly. To fill the void of the missing feelings between them, she took on house projects and tried to build her life better than she ever could have dreamed. She told me she knew something was missing between her and her husband, but she couldn’t let go—neither of them could—so she unhealthily coped by using home additions and expensive cars.

There were lots of tears at the lunch meeting, but I think Carolyn needed closure. Me too.

She also apologized for being a shitty foster mom. She wasn’t that bad. I mean, if I hadn’t been in love with her husband, I would have thought she was okay.

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