It’s not long, just half a page, but the sight of his spidery handwriting sends a bolt of nostalgia through me.
How am I supposed to hate a man I miss like a father?
Everything feels tangled and gnarled. So many wires and circuits crossed I want to rip the letter into a hundred scraps and cast it to the winds, along with all these feelings.
Instead, I sit my ass back down in the armchair and start reading.
Dear Ethan,
By now you’re probably madly in love. I sincerely hope you are. If you’re not, give it time.
I’ve watched you and Hattie over the years. I know how good the two of you could be together if you only gave it a chance. If you only moved past everything that happened when you were young.
I knew it. I fuckingknewhe was setting me up for another guilt trip.
My hands shake as I clench the letter, forcing myself to finish.
There’s a lot I never told you.
I made so many mistakes with your mother. She’s never been able to forgive them, and frankly, I don’t deserve it.
I see that now. I’ve made peace after a lifetime of denial.
But this isn’t about my past errors. You deserve to know why I’ve saddled you with a marriage neither of you asked for, and why I insisted on setting up this grand façade.
I know what it’s like to beat yourself up forever. I saw you trapped in that pit after Taylor. The grief, the responsibility you felt over her demise—even though it wasn’t your fault.
Now, don’t worry.
Your secret will follow me to the grave—it already has, if you’re reading this. However, I couldn’t let you stay in that abyss with no way to climb out.
Not without doing my utmost to drop you a ladder.
I knew I couldn’t fix this alone, Ethan.
But I knew someone who could.
Someone we trust. Someone tender. Someone who believes in adventures and secrets and second chances. Someone who cherishes love as much as long evenings stuck in a book.
In time, perhaps you’ll come to see what I did, if you haven’t already.
Open your eyes and look hard.
She can dispel your darkness. Margot already loves her like family.
She who can weather your stormiest attitude—she had plenty of practice every summer she spent with us.
Oh, hell.
My chest is imploding. I pinch the letter until the paper bends, so close to ripping, but I can’t bring myself to relax my hand.
Once, I refused to accept your father and my ego cost me dearly. Back then, I thought your mother could do better. But all that pain proved it was never money or prestige that matters in the end.
It’s having the right person to balance the scales, and your heart.
For Evie, her other half was always Scott.
I see that now.
