Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
I can barely see the paper, and the ink blotches are from my tears because I love you so very much. I love you enough to understand if you don’t want to do this any longer. If you don’t want to be a burden on your mother. If you don’t want to deal with all the pity from the people who say they are your friends. It’s more than I would be able to handle. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s okay. It’s okay if you check out. It’s okay to take the do-over.
Yours in this life and every life,
Molly xo
I read it once, frozen in place. Then I reach for one of the kitchen chairs before my knees buckle. And then I read it a second time. Slower. Letting each word echo, searching for an alternate meaning that isn’t what it seems. Did his girlfriend suggest he take his life?
That’s unimaginable.
Morbid.
Awful beyond any sense of my imagination.
Sure, couples argue. Sometimes, they say things in the heat of the moment, things they later regret.
But this was thought out. Well thought out.
It’s vicious.
It’s … unforgivable.
“I know what you’re feeling,” Eloise says. “I felt it too. But I’ve had time to reread it. I’ve had time to interpret it in different ways. Maybe he was depressed. Perhaps he shared it with her. This letter may be nothing more than an immature girl trying to …”
My gaze lifts to hers. “Trying to what?” I murmur in a weak tone.
She frowns, taking a seat next to me. “I don’t know.” Her knobby-knuckled fingers brush along the wood table like she’s wiping invisible crumbs. “I don’t understand their generation, but I also don’t understand what having no hope inside you feels like. I suppose that makes me lucky.”
I accept her apologetic smile with a tiny nod. “Did one girl have that kind of hold over Steven? Should one person’s opinion or actions have the power to convince another human to end their life?”
“No.” Eloise frowns, sliding her hand along the table to rest it on mine. “People can’t break you unless you’re weak. Steven wasn’t weak.”
He was weak. It’s the only explanation.
And Molly knew it.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. There’s no changing the past. Since I took it from his room, I felt I had to return it to the family. That’s all. It’s best if you burn it and go through their things. Put the rest of this tragedy behind you.”
The growing rage of thoughts in my head drowns out her words, but I manage a single nod.
CHAPTER TWO
FRANCESCA
I can’t forget.
And I can’t let it go.
It’s not letting go of the past; it’s justice in the present.
The plan was to spend a few days going through their belongings, sorting them into things to donate, items to sell, and anything sentimental the family might want to keep. By the fourth day, it’s all done and time to arrange for a pickup of the items. Then I will drive home, leaving this house for the last time.
Again, that’s the plan.
However, there’s a wrinkle in this plan. That wrinkle is a piece of paper with four hundred and six words. Yes, I’ve counted them. I’ve read them. I’ve studied them. I’ve tried to read between the lines. I’ve attempted to put myself in Molly’s shoes. I’ve imagined what Steven must have felt reading them for the first time, the second time, and a million times after that. Because surely he did. Right?
He must have read it repeatedly before concluding that she was right—his life was no longer worth living.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer her call with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“Hi, Hun. How’s it going? I told your dad I feel guilty for not helping you. But I still haven’t fully recovered from my knee surgery, and I don’t know how much help I would have been.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean into the back of the sofa. “It’s fine. I’m making progress. There are a few loose ends I want to tie up, so I think I might stay longer than originally planned. The house needs to go on the market. I’m not sure how long it will take to sell.”
“Well, it’s unrealistic for you to stay until it sells. That wouldn’t be fair to you. But I hope you’re getting out and going to eat and doing something. I can’t imagine spending so much time in that house by yourself. And since you lost your job, I worry about you.”
She’s worried I’m going to take my life. I’m not John. Or maybe I am. I’m the half of “us” that doesn’t feel like my life is disposable.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Did you find your brother’s baby book? I know it’s silly, but I wanted to ask Lynn for it after he died, but it never felt like the right time.”