Page 108 of Lassoed Love

Dear Isla,

If you are reading this, my love, it means that I am no longer with you. I want you to know that I fought endlessly for you, I fought to live for you. The love we shared, and the beautiful person you are, were my reasons to fight. Life is a fragile, fleeting gift, and in my last moments, all I could think of was you. Hold onto our memories, and let them be the guiding stars in your night sky.

As you stand on the cusp of 21, I want you to embrace the journey ahead with courage and curiosity. Life is an ever-changing tapestry, and with each passing year, you weave your own unique story. Remember, amidst the highs and lows, you possess a strength that can weather any storm.

May your days be filled with joy, laughter, and the pursuit of your passions. Never forget that setbacks are not failures but opportunities for growth. Embrace the unknown, for it holds the potential for beautiful surprises.

Cherish the bonds you forge and hold on to the love that surrounds you. Life may take unexpected turns, but the connections you nurture will be your constant anchor. You are capable of incredible things, my dear Isla, and I believe in the boundless potential within you.

With all my love,

Mum

As the last words of the letter settle in my heart, tears flow freely and a choked sob escapes me. I instinctively cover my mouth.

Tears stain the paper as I continue reading my mother’s words again for a second time. With tear-filled eyes, I move on to the next envelope, labelled—Isla - 25 years old.As I tear it open, my mother’s handwriting, once again, unfolds another chapter of love and wisdom.

Well, look at you, my beautiful girl, officially a quarter of a century! I hope this finds you surrounded by the things that make your heart sing. By now, I imagine you’ve achieved that dream of becoming a veterinarian, just like we’d spoken about—a force to be reckoned with in the world of healing our four-legged friends.

I hope you’ve also found a person who sees the extraordinary soul you are. Someone to share your dreams, support your ambitions, and, most importantly, make you laugh until your sides ache. Life is too short not to revel in the joy of genuine, deep connection.

As I read over my mother’s words, memories flood back to my 25th birthday, a snapshot of a life intertwined with someone I thought belonged there. I make a face of disgust and a bitter laugh escapes me, a laugh not at my mother’s hopeful words, but at the misguided path I once thought was the right one. How naïve I had been to believe I was in the right place at the right time.

How pathetically wrong I was.

Looking back at that version of myself, I see a woman now shapedby the choices she had made. A woman who, instead of embracing the warmth of a newfound commitment, lets fear guide her steps. I know better. I know better than to follow in these footsteps, and the thought that I could have now potentially ruined the one thing that meant to the most to be, fucking kills me.

I pushed Xavier away because I’m a fucking sook, and I think part of me is too embarrassed to confront him, for this sole reason.

With a lump in my throat, I pick up the third letter, uncertainty clinging to me like a shroud. The words on the envelope,Isla - to finding love, send a tremor through my body. I drop the letter into my lap, my hand covers my mouth as silent sobs wrack my frame. I’m not sure I can bring myself to read it. An image of my mother looking down on me crosses my mind. She wrote these letters with the hope that I would read them one day. So, I wipe my nose, take a shuddering breath, and tear the envelope open. As I read through the letter, my tears continue to flow, the words a bittersweet embrace.

Isla, my love,

I hope this letter finds you at a time when love has woven its way into the fabric of your life. By now, you may have encountered the person who makes your heart dance and your soul sing. Whether it’s a slow burn or a whirlwind, embrace it with all your being.

Love is a journey, my dear, and it comes in unexpected ways. Sometimes, it’s found in shared laughter, stolen glances, or a comforting touch. Cherish those moments, for they are the threads that weave the tapestry of a beautiful life.

Remember that love isn’t always perfect, and it doesn’t have to be.It’s the messy, imperfect moments that make it real. Find someone who sees you at your worst and still chooses to stand by your side. Someone who appreciates your quirks and celebrates your victories.

May your heart find solace in the company of someone who adds joy to your days and comfort to your nights. And if you’ve already found this love, hold on to it with both hands and a grateful heart.

Also, please remember that your father’s love is one that will always be with you. Despite the rifts and challenges, deep down, he loves you with everything. Fathers have a unique way of expressing their love, and despite any misunderstandings, his love for you is undying.

With all my love, always.

Mum

I don’t even have it in me to look at the last letter. I let out a strangled cry and a cough, hastily bundling the torn, tear-stained letters under my arm. Closing the drawer with a trembling hand, I stand abruptly and hurry out of my parents’ bedroom. Running down the stairs and out the front door, I gasp for air, the weight of the emotions leaving me breathless.

Gasping for air, my lungs constrict, and pain courses through my chest. A wince escapes my lips as I struggle to breathe. Unable to keep the nausea at bay, I stagger towards the nearest bin and vomit, heaving and gagging, my body convulsing with each cough.

Confident that the contents of my stomach have been emptied, I stand up straight, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I walk over to my car with careful yet hasty steps, not wanting to upset my stomach further. Getting into the car, I take deep breaths, wipingat the tears that just won’t fucking stop.

Driven by a desperate need, I start my car and keep driving, the familiar scenery passing by in a blur. Lost in my thoughts, the roads seem to guide me on their own until, before I know it, I find myself at the doors of the church in Wattle Creek, a place I haven’t visited in ages.

I push open the heavy wooden doors, their groans echoing through the mostly empty church. The scent of polished wood and aged hymnals permeates the air as I step into the hallowed space. Sunlight filters through the stained glass, casting vibrant patterns on the worn floorboards. A few elderly individuals occupy some of the pews.

I kneel down on the worn wooden pew, the echoes of my emotions reverberating through the empty church. The cold, musty air envelops me as I close my eyes, seeking solace in the quiet sanctuary.

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