Page 43 of Love, A Curvy Girl's Guide

Ian shot her a worried glance.

“Are you all right?” he whispered as he gently pulled her close and kissed her temple.

Instead of the cursory nod or fake assurance, she answered honestly. “No, but I will be.”

Ian let out a breath, something between relief and exhaustion. His grip on her hand tightened for just a moment. She then noticed the lines under his eyes from staying up far too late with her, rubbing her back and holding her close when the tears wouldn’t stop.

She leaned into him, just for a second, allowing herself to borrow his strength.

The service passed in a haze of hymns, stories, and a steady stream of people recounting her father’s kindness, his humor, his unwavering love for his family. She heard every word, but none of them felt like enough. How could words capture a life?

How could words capture him?

As the final prayer was spoken and they prepared to leave for the burial, Haley clutched the letter in her lap. The weight of it was unbearable.

Later.

She would read it later.

For now, she let Ian guide her outside, where the crisp autumn air hit her like a slap, cutting through the fog in her head. The sky was a dull gray, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang.

Life kept going.

Even when hers had just stopped.

TWENTY-SIX

The house was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet, but the weighty, suffocating kind that made every breath feel like too much effort. The kind of quiet that let grief seep into every corner, wrapping around her like a ghost she couldn’t shake.

Haley lay in Ian’s arms, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It was the only thing grounding her, the only proof that time hadn’t stopped completely. His fingers traced slow, absent-minded patterns along her spine, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

She thought she’d be too exhausted to think. Too emotionally drained to feel anything but numb.

But then she remembered.

The letter.

Her breath hitched as her fingers tightened around Ian’s T-shirt.

“Haley?” His voice was low, sleep-roughened, but immediately laced with concern. “What is it?”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “The letter. From my dad.”

Ian stilled beneath her. Then, without hesitation, he shifted, reaching toward the nightstand where she had placed theenvelope after the funeral. He handed it to her without a word, his eyes searching hers.

“You want to read it now?” he asked gently.

Haley nodded, though her fingers trembled as she took the envelope. She exhaled slowly and broke the seal, unfolding the neatly written pages. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but once she started reading the words, her dad’s voice came through loud and clear.

Her hands tightened around the paper as she began to read.

Haley,

I know you’re hurting right now, Bug, and if I could take that pain from you, I would. Grief is just proof of how much we love someone. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but one day, the pain won’t be as sharp as it is right now. My dad always said that grief doesn’t get any easier, just more familiar. Someday you will look at all those memories we’ve shared and smile. And trust me, kid, we made some damn good ones.

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