Page 99 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

What was he mad about? He had to have known this was coming.

I shook it off and took a hair tie from my wrist. I went to pull my hair up, tying it around the curls, but it snapped.

“Damn it.”

Another broken hair tie. My heart sped up. My shoulders dropped.

It’s just a hair tie, Molly.

Maybe my broken hair ties weren’t a bad omen. Maybe this was a good thing. The last time one had broken had been at the hospital, and we’d gotten good news that day. Finn was alive.

I pulled my backup tie from my wrist, glad when it held strong. When my curls were secured in a mess on top of my head, I picked up everything that was mine from the van.

There wasn’t much. My purse and a water bottle. Max had dropped a candy bar wrapper on the floor next to where Finn’s chair had been. I grabbed it and the keys then got out. With my purse slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the mailbox.

It was empty, except for one unstamped letter.

Damn it. Not today.

The letters had stopped while Finn had been in the hospital. Whoever was sending them had to have known we weren’t equipped to deal with them during those weeks. I still wasn’t, but I didn’t have a choice.

There was no energy left for a letter today. And that broken hair tie was a sign this one wouldn’t be gushing about my amazingness.

I opened the letter cautiously, glancing around the street to make sure I was alone, then I read Finn’s words.

His angry, bitter words.

You hurt me. You fucking hurt me. Maybe I should have packed enough stuff for two weeks.

My hand came up to my chest, rubbing the ache behind my sternum as I read those words scribbled before his name.

In the end, he should have packed enough for forever. Finn hadn’t come home after that.

I stared at the page, shocked by its severity. The harshness. The letters before had been painful. They’d hurt.

This was the first one where I got angry.

How dare he say I hurt him? He’d broken me. He’d shattered me to pieces the day he walked out our front door with his weeks’ worth of clothes.

Fuck him. Finn didn’t get to write this letter. He didn’t get to send his words into the universe in a way that gave me no chance to defend myself. He certainly didn’t get to say this was entirely on me.

I stomped into the house, throwing my purse on the floor as I went in search of Finn. I found him on the couch, his laptop open and ready.

“Are you heading back to work now?” he asked.

“No.” I threw the letter at him. The envelope went sailing. The paper floated to the seat.

“Why—oh.”

I crossed my arms over my heaving chest, waiting for him to read the words. He had the decency to look apologetic after he reached the end.

“Fuck, Molly.” He hung his head and set the letter aside. “I’m sorry. I was angry.”

“So was I!” I shouted. The lid on my temper blew like a rocket, straight through the roof and into outer space. “You have no right to blame this on me.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“That’s no excuse,” I hissed. “That day was not my fault.”