Page 73 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
I wasn’t the type to get swept up in Cinderella fantasies, but that night, I let myself believe.
And I loved every second of it.
I’d laughed more than I had in years. I was happy—maybe the happiest I’d ever been. We made love right there, under the stars, wild and passionate. Then, at six in the morning, we scrambled out like teenagers dodging a weed bust.
It was perfect.
A bittersweet smile crept onto my face as the memory rolled over me. Things had gone to hell barely four weeks after that night. And I’d completely forgotten our little adventure until now.
Looking at the photo of the two of us, tangled in a blanket, smiling like the world was ours, I felt something. It was an ache in my chest.
I missed him. Not just him, but us. What we used to be. And I didn’t admit this often—even to myself—but a part of me still wanted him, still loved him.
I hated how things ended. Hated that he could believe those ridiculous accusations about me. After everything we’d shared, how could he think I was just using him? That I didn’t love him? But even through the anger, I still loved him.
Maybe I never stopped.
Maybe I never would.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a teardrop landed on the photo. I wiped it quickly with the back of my hand and dropped the picture into the discard pile. Because love or not, the reality was this: he’d moved on. He was getting married. I needed to move on, too. Fully. Finally.
There was only one bedroom left after mine. My father’s. I dreaded packing it up, but I had to. I started with his clothes, then moved on to the drawers, tossing what needed tossing, folding what I could donate, until I stumbled across an envelope.
My name was scrawled across the front. To Leila.
I stared at it. They’d told me he left a letter. I never picked it up. Never read it. I’d told myself it didn’t matter.
But now, holding it in my hand, I hesitated.
I thought about tossing it. But curiosity won.
With a breath, I unfolded the paper and began to read it carefully, slowly, taking in every single word.
My dear Leila,
I wasn’t the father you deserved. That’s the truth. Somewhere along the line, I let life and its weight get the better of me. The debts. The disappointments. The constant feeling that I was running out of time and options. I let all of it turn me into a man I don’t recognize.
And I took it out on you.
You were the one thing in my life that had hope in it. You looked at the world with color in your eyes, and I crushed that under all my baggage. I started using your love life like a ladder—thinking if you ended up with someone powerful or wealthy, it’d pull us out of the hole we were in. And that was wrong.
What I should have cared about was your happiness. Your peace. The kind of love that made you feel safe and seen.
You remember the backyard? You used to sit out there for hours with that sketchpad, drawing new layouts for the house—changing the curtains to yellow because “the room looked too sad”. I used to peek through the window and watch you work, and I remember thinking, she’s going to make something beautiful out of this world one day.
Don’t let that part of you go, Leila. Don’t let the world take that from you. You talked about tech design like it was magic—like you could turn spaces into stories. I want you to chase that again.
You’ve been surviving. But I want you to live.
You've been living only for Ollie, and I admire that. He’s lucky to have you. But he needs a mother who remembers she’s more than just his mom. He needs a woman who’s full of dreams and love and light.
You deserve a life, Leila. Not just survival. Not just sacrifice.
And if someone ever offers you love—real love—with presence,patience, and kindness, don’t turn away. Don’t let what happened with me or anyone else make you afraid. You’re worthy.
I am proud of the woman you’ve become, Leila.
I know I didn’t say it enough. Maybe I never said it at all. But I was proud of you. Always.
