Page 14 of Worth of Waste

Karen still hadn’t conceded to the idea of using Dino’s money for her needs. She didn’t know where the money had come from, or if it was a byproduct of his business. It probably was. She wasn’t sure if she was okay with that.

Doesn’t matter. Baby comes first. Deal with it later.

Karen sighed, knowing her inner voice was right.

Whether she liked it or not, Dino had provided her with a way to care for herself and their child, at least until she got back on her feet and could handle her business again.

That didn’t mean she particularly had to like it.

Once Karen had the leftovers heating in the microwave, she sat down at the table and reached for the envelope again. She fingered the edges of the white paper, wondering once more if this had somehow come from Dino.

It was only after she had it opened, pulled out the few papers, and unfolded them, did she know for sure it had come from him … somehow. While the handwriting on the outside hadn’t been Dino’s, the content on the inside was absolutely his.

Karen wasn’t sure how long she sat there staring at the letters and words that didn’t seem to make sense. And it wasn’t because the letter itself didn’t make sense, but because the ink of the pen that Dino had used to write seemed to bleed together right before her eyes.

Finally, those tears she had been holding back fell.

Four entire minutes passed before Karen was able to clear away the tears enough to actually read the letter in her hands. In just the first few sentences, she understood clearly how Dino had been able to get the letter to her with no stamp attached that said it had come from a jailhouse or a prison. His lawyer would be sending it for him, he had explained, and he had written it shortly before he agreed to the deal the prosecution had offered him.

The date in the top right-hand corner confirmed what he had written down below.

Bess might have only gotten the letter two and a half weeks earlier, but Dino had written it over a month ago. Karen reached for the envelope, noting the time stamp printed across the front. The letter had been sent a good week after Dino had written it.

Karen couldn’t help but wonder if this was what she had been looking for?

Was this the answers to the questions keeping her up at night?

Would she finally be able to understand just who Dino DeLuca was and why he had done what he did?

Karen kept reading, and by the time she was halfway down the first page, the tears started to well again and her chest got terribly tight with an ache she hadn’t felt in a long time.

I’m sorry I lied to you by hiding things from you; I knew—I thought I knew—that you wouldn’t want me as I was, but instead, who you thought I was, he had written, his handwriting becoming messier in the spots where his feelings became clearer and his tone was less clinical. I’ve never had to be just myself with someone, because my whole life has been wrapped up in a neat little bow to be everything that everyone else wanted.

Karen almost wanted to stop reading—it would have been easier.

She probably could have held onto her anger and bitterness for a little while longer.

She wouldn’t have had to feel guilty about walking away from someone she didn’t know who had hurt her so badly.

Except reading Dino’s words … she found she did know him.

Or the parts that mattered.

An orphaned boy, left to look after his siblings. Abusive guardians.

He felt like the sacrifice, she thought, as she took in his explanation of why he didn’t mind taking the abuse so his siblings wouldn’t have to deal with it, or at least, not as badly as he did.

As Karen read Dino’s words, from the first page to that very final fifth one, she realized she knew exactly who this man was. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had thought that she didn’t know him, because he had already given her a lot of these words in bits and pieces, in his actions and behaviors, and in the things he wouldn’t do during their time together.

Never had she understood how truly worthless Dino felt about himself than she did as she read his words over and over again.

He saw himself as disposable.

He didn’t want to be loved because he didn’t deserve to be.

He might not have written those exact words, but they still rang out loudly and repeatedly.

At the very end, he had answered something that bothered her so much for so long. Ever since that packet of money had arrived on her doorstep with nothing more than a hastily scrawled note that explained the cash away.