“Yes, I knew it was going to happen, but it was the worst timing ever because I was finishing up my paper, that he knew nothing about, and well . . . it all came out. He asked for the truth, so I gave it to him.” I dab at my eyes. “You should have seen the look on his face. He was completely destroyed, Nichole.”
“I’m sure he was. Ryot has always wanted you to feel treasured, and I think seeing that you haven’t felt that way would break him.”
“It did. It’s why I didn’t want to tell him the truth because I knew it would hurt him. He apologized. He told me he loved me and that he didn’t want to hurt me anymore, so he signed the papers. It wasn’t out of spite or out of anger. He was defeated, genuine, and wants me to move on.”
“He let you go,” Nichole says softly.
“He did.”
“And you don’t know how you feel about it.”
“I feel lost,” I say right before I let out a large sob. “I know this is what I wanted, but now that it’s over, I . . . I don’t—”
Knock. Knock.
My eyes flash to the door.
“Myla, you in there?” Ryot asks.
“One second, Nichole,” I whisper.
I set the phone down and go to the door. I quickly wipe at my tears and open it. Ryot is on the other side, holding a folded piece of paper in his hand. When his eyes meet mine, he looks tortured.
“You’re crying,” he says.
I wipe at my eyes again. “It’s fine.”
He shifts on his feet and says, “I know I said I would leave you alone, and I will, but I need to give you this.” He hands me the paper. “I don’t want you to think this is my way of changing your mind or making things up to you.” He presses his hand to the letter. “I know it’s too late for that. But before I walk away, I need you to hear these words. This is asking a lot from someone who owes me nothing, but promise me you’ll read it when you’re ready.”
I stare down at the note and then back up at him.
“Please, Myla.”
I nod as my tears fall again, unable to tamp down my emotions.
He lifts his hand and swipes at my tears with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry, Myla. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I’m sorry for these past two weeks. I’m sorry for not listening to you, and I’m sorry for not being there for you when I should have been.” He lowers his hand and takes a step away. “If you need anything from me, let me know. And if Nichole needs anything, let me know.” Another step back. “I hope you find peace and what you’re looking for back in Chicago.”
With the saddest smile I’ve ever seen, he turns around and walks back up the stairs as I slowly shut the door, more tears streaming down my face. When I pick up the phone, I say, “That was him.”
“I heard. What does the note say?”
“I’m afraid to read it.”
“Read it out loud. I’m here for you.”
I take a deep breath and unfold the note to reveal his handwriting—slightly slanted, not too neat but not messy either. I wet my lips and then read. “‘Dear Myla, I remember the first day I met you like it was yesterday. You were wearing a skintight red dress that should have pulled my attention away from the shitty game I’d had, but at that time, I was too blind to realize the woman eating my grapes and drinking a Capri Sun was going to be the one person in my life I needed the most.’” My voice catches on a sob.
“Take your time,” Nichole encourages.
I swipe at my eyes and continue. “‘It’s funny how life works, right? There you were, a complete stranger on my couch, yet you held the key to my happiness without me even knowing. And I took that key for granted. I got comfortable. I grew complacent. And I became a man I don’t even recognize now. You speak of a guy who is neglectful, a bully at times, a selfish prick, and I can’t sit here and deny any of it. I can only nod in agreement. Because you’re right.’”
I let that sink in as more tears fall.
“You okay?” Nichole asks.
“Yes,” I answer and then continue. “‘I forgot who I was. I forgot the journey. I forgot the future. I was thinking of myself and my ego, that’s it. Nothing more. And because of that, I lost you. I made you feel forgettable, like you didn’t matter. But Myla, you are the single most important thing in my life.’” I choke on a sob and take a deep breath. “‘And until my dying day, I know losing you will go down as my biggest regret.’”
“Oh God,” Nichole mumbles.
“‘This letter is not to sway you to give me another chance because I know that ship has sailed. This letter is to offer you some semblance of peace, to let you know that your choice is justified, validated, and that if anyone was ever in the wrong in this relationship, it was me. You know I love you. I will love you forever, but I want you to be happy. No, I NEED you to be happy. If that means walking away so you can find your joy again, then I will. I have.’” I wipe at my tears. “‘I truly hope you find what you’re looking for, that you find someone who can make you smile again, who can put you first, and who can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Like you are a priceless treasure—because you are. I’m sorry that I got so lost, that I forgot my number-one priority: bringing joy and love to our marriage. I love you, Myla. Thank you for everything. Yours, Ryot.’”
I set the paper down and lean back on my bed as sobs wrack my body.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Nichole says. “From the sound of your crying, I’m going to guess you weren’t expecting that either.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I sniff. “I feel like . . . I feel like I made a mistake, Nichole.”
“Because you still love him?”
“I do.”
“Because his letter makes you think there’s a chance change could be made?”
“I do.” Because I just heard from the man I married. The thoughtful, selfless, loving man I said yes to all those years ago.
“So then find out.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“See if there is any way you can salvage it. You have a week with him in Napa, so that’s the perfect time to figure it all out.”
“He told me not to go,” I say.
I can hear the smile in her voice as she says, “When has that ever stopped you?”
Chapter Fourteen
RYOT
Seven years ago . . .
“What are you going to wear for your first official date?” Banner asks as he flops onto my bed.
“Uh, what I’m wearing now,” I answer, looking down at my jeans and T-shirt.
He winces. “Oh, really?”
“It’s a casual date, you fuck.”
“Still, your jeans could be nicer.”
“These are my nicest jeans. What the hell is wrong with them?”
“Those are it?” he asks. “Dude, you’re paid millions. Spring for a nicer pair.”
“Fuck off.” I move out of my room and toward the living room.