Ch. 10: The Letter

If someone had told her a year ago that she would be standing here, she would have laughed.

Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. "You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen."

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen." For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

Outside, the world went on as if nothing had shifted. Inside, everything had.

The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered.

And somewhere beneath the fear, quiet and stubborn, something like hope began to grow.