As I sit here alone in my room, there are over a hundred people downstairs celebrating me. And all I’ve wanted to do the entire evening is escape. Thoughts of you are particularly heavy today. That’s nothing new—it just doesn’t normally happen until I lay my head on the pillow at night and close my eyes. It’s always you I’m thinking of in that moment.
I sometimes wonder if it’s only me feeling like this. I wonder if you still think about me as much as I think about you. I told myself I wasn’t going to contact you, that nothing good could come of it after so long. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken my vow not to try to reach you, though. I tried calling you about a month ago but couldn’t get through to your phone.
I had to stop reading for a moment. That hurt my heart so much. A couple of years ago, I’d gotten rid of my old cell phone and switched to a new phone and number my law firm had given me. While I did transfer all of Leo’s information into my new phone, if he’d tried to reach me at the old number, I wouldn’t have known. When I left my job, I’d kept the number of my corporate phone, but switched to a personal plan.
I continued reading.
I have no other way to reach you, so I’m writing this letter in the hopes that you receive it. Felicity, the truth is I still love you. And in case it wasn’t clear that I felt that way, I did fall deeply in love with you that summer. On some level, I knew that when I left. But I hadn’t realized the extent of it until we weren’t together anymore. There are still moments where I long for you more than for the air I breathe. They happen at very random times—I’ll suddenly smell something that reminds me of you. Or see a flash of red hair on the streets of London and think for one insane second that you changed your mind and came for me, only to realize it was just a fleeting delusion.
I’m still in love with you, or at least the memory of you. As for the reasons we supposedly couldn’t be together—nothing has changed in that regard. My life in no way fits with yours. I’m all wrong for you in every way—aside from the fact that I love you. If you’re still reading this and haven’t crumpled it into a ball out of frustration, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. Why now…after all this time has passed?
Well, here it is: I’m getting married, Felicity. My father is dying. He fought a good battle over the past several years, but there’s nothing more they can do. They’ve stopped all treatments, and he only has about six months left to live, if we’re lucky. As was always the plan, I want to give him the peace I know he needs. He wants to know I’m settled and that I’m going to follow through with his wishes, continuing the family name and business.
I’m engaged to a wonderful woman—one who deserves a man whose heart belongs only to her. Her name is Darcie. She was actually one of my friends growing up, and we reconnected about a year ago. She’s kind and beautiful, and she knows this life inside and out. But moreover, she’s a good person whom I’m very fond of. I don’t think I would regret marrying her. The only thing I regret is that she’s not you. Once we’re married, I plan to take my vow seriously. Part of planning for that is trying to work out these unresolved feelings before I enter into a lifelong commitment.
For all I know, you may be in love with someone else right now. You might have moved on. I’ve tried to look you up. I’ve tried to find information, and I’ve come up with nothing.
I feel like this letter is my last hope in reaching you. I know I’m rambling. And admittedly, I’m a little pissed. (That means drunk, remember?) Having a few Negronis was the only way I could tolerate this engagement party. Which reminds me, I should probably return to it at some point. So, let me get to the heart of this letter.
If there’s any chance you’ve regretted being apart from me as I’ve regretted being apart from you, I need to know. Reach out to me. I don’t know what that will mean for us, but I’m fairly certain the only way I can go through with this wedding is if I know there’s no chance for us to reconnect in this lifetime.
I need to know whether you’re still thinking of me. I need to know whether there’s any chance you would want to see me again. If you don’t respond, I’ll understand. I will get the message loud and clear. I don’t know when you’ll get this letter, but my wedding is set for September 16.
I had to stop reading again. My heart was going a mile a minute. I looked at the date at the top of the letter: June 2, 2025. Holy shit. He’d written it a little over two months ago.
September 16.
I calculated in my head. Oh my God. That’s three weeks from now.
He’d assumed Mrs. Angelini would be here to tell me about this—which she absolutely would have the second she received it. But now, he must have thought I’d chosen not to respond. I looked at the envelope, and although the date stamp was smudged, it had an Express Mail label on it, which meant it probably took less than a week to get here. It had likely been sitting here for two whole months.
I braced myself to read the last part of the letter.
I don’t want to hurt Darcie. I have every intention of honoring the commitment I’m about to make. But I would be doing myself a great injustice if I didn’t at least reach out to you before it’s too late.
Again, you don’t need to respond if this letter in any way upsets you. I can’t begin to imagine where you are in your life right now and whether receiving this news is disruptive. But Felicity, if there’s any chance you would want to see me again, that you would want to throw caution to the wind as we figure things out together, I need to know.
With love (always),
Leo
With the letter in hand, I must have paced for three hours straight.
I have a chance to stop him before he gets married.
However, he had probably already assumed I wasn’t going to respond and had come to terms with his plans. Contacting him now would be cruel. It would turn his world upside down. Was that fair? But how could I not? I did still love him. This was my chance to tell him—something I’d never done. Hadn’t Mrs. Angelini’s sudden death taught me about leaving things unsaid?
Speaking of Mrs. Angelini, I would have given anything—anything—to have her advice right now. Sure, I could’ve called Bailey, but I didn’t always trust that she had my best interests in mind. I loved her, but she was way too reckless. She’d tell me to hop on a plane and go there tonight.
I looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer. I probably should have been talking to God, but it was Mrs. Angelini I tried to reach.
“What would you tell me to do?” I whispered.
I forced myself to take a shower, figuring running water might bring me some clarity. But it didn’t help.
As I got dressed, I felt more and more panicky, like my life now had a timer attached to it, and the ticking sound was deafening.
Needing something in my stomach before I passed out, I made my way to the snack cabinet. There wasn’t much in there, but I noticed an old blue can of butter cookies and wondered if they were still good. If so, I’d probably demolish the entire thing.
When I opened the tin, though, there were no cookies inside. Instead, I found something I hadn’t laid eyes on in over five years: Leo’s necklace—the one with the diamond ring that had belonged to his grandfather. It was probably worth the price of a small house, and I’d been too afraid to take it with me to Pennsylvania. I’d worried something might happen to it, and it had been too painful to look at. I’d told Mrs. Angelini to put it in a safe place, and she’d assured me she would take care of it. I knew why she’d put it in this canister. If someone were to rob the house, this would be the last place they’d look for jewelry that cost a fortune.