I don’t answer either of them. Instead, I slide the letter toward myself and stare at it.
If I could have kids, yes, I’d be with Beck in a heartbeat. I’d be clinging to him every chance I got to give us everything we want.
It just doesn’t feel right to think it can still be that easy. To not feel guilty.
It isn’t that I don’t want to read the letter; I’m beside myself with the fact that I haven’t yet. I’m certain that whatever is in this letter is going to make me choose Beck, and yes, that’s all well and dandy, but this isn’t a light choice to make. It’s a good thing he isn’t here. No words or his smile or his perfect scent to influence me. Most of all, not his touch. Simply being near that man can make every inch of my body relax into a state where I’d agree to anything he wanted.
I know he said it didn’t matter to him, but one day it might. And deep down, I’ll always feel like it’s my fault he isn’t getting everything he wants in life. By choosing him and choosing us, it feels selfish.
But the longer I string this out, the longer we both hurt.
Today is the day I make a decision. Either I’ll choose to believe that I’m enough for him or I need to let him go.
On a breath, I pull out the letter.
Dear Calla,
Let me preface this letter by telling you once again how much I love you. Neither of us expected this to happen after we got married, but I wholeheartedly believe that we walked down that aisle for a reason. We might not have known what it was that night, but there was a reason.
Mine was because I kept spending all this time searching for the perfect woman when she was right here the whole time. I was too blind to see how perfect you are for me. I was too blind to see how you make me smile as soon as I wake up. You make me want to be better and do better; you make me want to try new things and take chances I never would have before. You are the missing piece of my life, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you. That I didn’t tell you the truth. That you couldn’t trust me to be honest.
I was scared the truth would ruin what we had, but the only person who did that was me.
You are the only person I want to share the good and the bad with, and I hope to god you will give me a chance to be that man for you. To be someone you trust and want to spend your life with. If you do, please start by trusting me when I say, YOU are the most important person in my life and YOU are the only future I want and need.
I love you, Calla Robertson. Please come home.
Love, your husband.
I fold the letter and gently put it back, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I close my eyes until I’ve pulled myself together.
I have to trust him. I have to believe him.
“You know what? Fine, here.” Simon opens the white envelope, jerks out the papers. “Sign these and be done with it. You’re not the only one hurting, Calla. That man loves you. Sign these papers and be done with him. You don’t call him. You don’t text him. You don’t hug or kiss him or whatever. You’re done.”
A sickening feeling forms in my stomach.
Never see Beck again?
“Jesus, Simon. You don’t have to be so harsh.” Greer smacks his shoulder.
“Someone has to tell her how it is.”
My gaze falls to the papers, and I see it instantly.
A smile spreads across my lips.
“These aren’t divorce papers,” I say.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Simon says. “He doesn’t want to divorce you.”
“Yeah, but he—”
Screw this. These two are not who I need to have this conversion with.
I grab the papers, the letter, and the big envelope still unopened off the table and shove them into my purse.
