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Since you’re reading this letter, that means I’ve left you. I’m so damn sorry for that. I know how many times you’ve been left and how many times you’ve had to deal with the pain of loss. I’m sorry I’ve brought you back to that place again. But know I would never have chosen to leave of my own free will. Right by your side was always where I was meant to be. It was the only place I ever wanted to be. Because you made my life happy. Full. Complete. God, we laughed and had fun, didn’t we, Daniela? Thank you so much for that.
Now here’s the part I really need you to hear: Live. And don’t do it for me. Live for yourself. And don’t just survive, but really live. Live and love and be happy. That’s what I want for you. Don’t waste a single moment thinking I wouldn’t want you to have a life full of love and family and kids and happiness. It’s all I want for you. And if I can’t be the one to give that to you, find someone who can and make sure he realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is to have turned your head.
So I guess that’s what I want to say. I hope you never have to read this and that we get to grow old and gray together. But if that’s not the way the chips fall, then know I loved you to the very end and beyond.
—Anthony
The second Daniela finished reading the letter, she started it again. And then she read it a third time, and a fourth. Her eyes were leaking whether she wanted them to or not, damnit, but she was also doing something that seemed so freaking impossible—she was smiling and laughing. She could hear Anthony’s voice for the first time in years. It was like he was sitting there talking to her. She could see his crooked smile and the way he arched one eyebrow when he was calling her out on her shit.
Oh, God, why had she denied herself this letter—this healing, freeing, reassuring, life-giving letter—for so long?
An incredible lightness filled her chest, one that made it easier to breathe, one that lifted the weight she’d been carrying all these years. It felt nearly euphoric.
And now that she had finally read it, she wasn’t going to waste a single minute before taking Anthony’s advice.
She picked up her cell phone and called Sean. Without even ringing, it went directly to voicemail.
So she texted. Hey. I’m sorry I freaked out. Can we please talk?
Five minutes passed. Ten. That wasn’t like him.
She didn’t even debate it. She found a pair of flip flops, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed down to the garage. Worry was seeping around the euphoria. Worry that she’d really hurt Sean’s feelings. Worry that she’d pushed him away. Worry that she’d blamed him for something he hadn’t done, which was really the worst possible thing she could do to Sean.
Fuck. She’d fucked up. Especially because, even if he had opened the letter, in the end it’d given her a big push towards reading it. And she couldn’t find anything to regret about having done that.
Everything appeared dark when she drove past the front of his house on 13th Street, but his bedroom and basement family room weren’t visible from the front anyway. And maybe he’d already gone to sleep. In which case she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.
But it turned out that didn’t matter, because when she pulled into his backyard, his truck wasn’t there.
Where the hell could he be at one-thirty in the morning?
Just to be sure, she killed the engine and walked up to the back door. The porch light wasn’t on and she couldn’t make out any light inside. Dani knocked. Waited. Knocked again a little harder. Standing there, she tried calling him again. But no luck. It still went straight to voicemail.
Dani’s belly dropped to the floor.
And it pretty much stayed there for the next eighteen hours as she left voicemails and sent texts to which he didn’t respond. She guessed that sorta served her right after she hadn’t returned his texts or phone calls the day before. The thing was though, she hadn’t done that on purpose, really. She’d done it because she’d been emotionally wrecked. And now her bones were telling her that he was doing it for the same damn reason.
With that feeling of dread rolling around in her gut, she got ready for Noah and Kristina’s July 4th party. The last few days had been so messed up for her that she hadn’t gotten around to making the pasta salad she’d volunteered to make, so she stopped by the fancy market with the great salads and bought some instead. And then, even though she was now officially running late, she drove by his house before she headed out of D.C. to Alexandria. His truck still wasn’t there.
