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The room falls silent except for the sound of her breathing and the faint rustle of the pages as she reads. I watch her face, every shift in expression a new stab of vulnerability. Sometimesshe smiles softly; other times her lips press together, her brows knitting in a way that makes my stomach twist.

When she reaches one of the more recent letters, her eyes shine with unshed tears. Her voice is quiet as she reads aloud:

Dear Charlie,

I dreamt about you last night. It was a long hard day and I expected it to be a long hard night, but there you were, making all of it a little better. You were walking by the pier, your hair blowing in the wind, and you looked… happy. God, you were so beautiful, and for a second, I let myself believe that you could still be mine. But then I remembered why I let you go, and the weight of it came crashing down all over again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you this in person, but I need you to know…

I’ve never stopped loving you.

Not for a second.

Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I know in my heart it was the right thing.

I hope you’re happy, Charlie. I hope you’ve found someone who looks at you the way I wish I could. Someone who doesn’t see their scars as a burden you have to carry. You deserve that. You deserve the world.

Always,

Nick

Her voice falters on the last line, and she sets the letter down, wiping at her cheeks. “Nick…” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “How long have you been holding onto these?”

“Since the day I wrote the first one,” I admit, my throat tight. “And I meant every word. I still do.”

Charlie turns to me, her eyes shining with tears but filled with something else, too—something fierce and unyielding. “You didn’t have to be perfect for me,” she says. “You didn’t have to protect me from your pain. All I ever wanted was you. Just you.”

“I know that now,” I say, my voice breaking.

She reaches for me, her hands framing my face, her touch gentle but firm. “Maybe we needed to lose each other to find ourselves. As Mom loves to say, The Universe has a way of making things work.”

Her words break something open inside me, and I pull her into my arms, holding her like she’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I’ve fought that idea, bristled at it, even contradicted the poor woman to her face on the topic, but now, after everything Charlie and I have been through, I’m forced to confront the truth. If every hard thing I went through was designed to bring me to this, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

When we finally pull apart, she picks up another letter, her smile soft but mischievous. “I think I’d like to read the rest of these.”

“Take your time,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “They’re yours, after all.”

And as she starts reading again, her laughter mingling with the occasional sniffle, I realize that sharing these letters—the pieces of myself I thought I’d lost forever—isn’t the terrifying thing I imagined it would be.

It’s freedom.

It’s healing.

It’s love.

FORTY-NINE

Nick

The room is the same as it’s always been—softly lit, calming shades of blue and beige, and that oversized armchair that’s somehow both uncomfortable and grounding. I’ve spent countless hours here, spilling the ugliest parts of myself, dredging up memories I would’ve rather left buried. The weight of those sessions felt suffocating at times, like carrying a pack that grew heavier the more I fought against it. But today, for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for battle when I step inside.

Dr. Eddington sits across from me, his notepad balanced on one knee. His gaze is steady, calm, as always. But there’s a hint of something else today—anticipation, maybe? Like he knows this session is going to be different.

“Well, Nick,” he begins, leaning back slightly, “it’s been a few weeks since our last session. How’ve you been feeling?”

I run a hand through my hair, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Good,” I admit, surprising myself with how easy the word comes. “Really good, actually.”

Dr. Eddington tilts his head, his lips twitching in what might be the beginning of a smile. “It’s been a year of really good for you.”

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