Page 67 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

If Finn saw it fall, he didn’t say a word. But he did stretch his arm across the empty seat between us, beckoning me closer.

I took the invitation, unbuckling and flipping up the console to slide over into his side. Finn always insisted that all Alcott trucks have a center seat because more often than not, a crew of workers would pile inside. One bench seat saved a six-person crew from taking two vehicles.

I was glad for it. I curled into his side and his arm wound around my shoulders. And I murmured another, “Thank you.”

“What was I thinking? We have a mailbox to stake out.”

“True.”

Though at the moment, I didn’t want the letters to stop, because I had a sinking feeling that once they did, Finn and I would stop too.

_

Darling Molly,

* * *

It’s four o’clock in the morning. I haven’t slept for more than two hours in a row for five days. You’re passed out right now in bed and I should be next to you. But before I can sleep, I have to get this out.

* * *

You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I didn’t think I could love you more, but then I watched you bring Kali into this world. Nineteen hours. No drugs. And you didn’t scream, not once. Amazing. The pain on your face looked unbearable, but you held tight because you didn’t want the first sound our daughter heard to be your cries. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. And you’re so amazing with her. Breastfeeding hasn’t been going well. She isn’t sleeping. I can tell you’re sore because you wince every time you walk. But you haven’t dropped your amazing smile. How do you do that?

* * *

You’re amazing. I’m exhausted and can’t think of any other word right now for it. For you. But you’re amazing. I love you.

* * *

Yours,

Finn

Ten

Finn

“Do you like it?” Kali asked me as I chewed a bite of my taco.

I nodded, swallowing before I smiled. “They’re great, sweetie. Nice job.”

“Great? Or amazing,” Molly teased. “I think they’re amazing.”

I shot her a glare as I took another bite.

I was never going to live down that last goddamn letter. I’d written it in a state of delirium. It was the one letter I’d fully intended to give to Molly as I’d scribbled the words. After I’d folded it up and left it on the office desk, I’d gone to bed that night with a stupid smile on my face.

Everything I’d written was true. Molly was amazing and I’d never forget those first two sleep-deprived weeks after Kali was born.

The next day, I woke up and went to get the letter to give to Molly, but then I reread it. Amazing had been in almost every damn sentence, so I didn’t give her the letter. I hurried to stow it away with the others so she’d never find it. Instead, I told her how amazing she was.

I told her while she was in the rocking chair in Kali’s room. They’d both been relaxed and sleepy, but awake, staring into one another’s eyes.

I sat on the floor by the chair, took Molly’s free hand and told her how brave she was. How selfless. How strong. The words I hadn’t been able to come up with the night before were much easier after a few hours of sleep.

But ever since the letter had shown up in her mailbox yesterday, she’d been teasing me relentlessly with the word amazing.

“These are really good, Kali,” Max told her, his cheeks bulging with his own bite.