doing everything I could to stay rooted in place. If I didn’t move, if I was somehow able to remain perfectly focused, then I’d somehow be okay. But then out of the blue, you showed up. You called to me from the ground and I stepped from the ledge…and then I was falling, right up until the moment you caught me in your arms.
Trevor, falling in love with you has been one of the most exalted experiences of my life. As hard as it is for me now—and I torment myself constantly over whether I made the right decision—I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. You made me feel more fully alive than I have in what seems like forever. Until you came along, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel that way—and more—again.
My desire for you feels unquenchable, unbounded. But the truth is that desire comes at a terrible price. I can’t allow myself to wish that my husband was dead, nor could I live with myself if I divorced him, if only because he isn’t capable of trying to change my mind. If I did either of those things, I wouldn’t be the same woman you fell in love with; to do either of those things would change me forever. It would transform me into a villain, a person I couldn’t recognize and have no desire to be. And of course, I couldn’t do that to you, either.
This was the reason I couldn’t see you again after saying goodbye at the hospital; this is the reason it would be best if we didn’t meet when you come back to town. I know how much I love you, and if you asked me again to come with you, I don’t think I would be able to resist. If you ask again, I’ll come to you; if you as much as hint toward that end, I’ll show up at your door. But please—please, please, please—don’t ever let me become the villain of my own story. I’m begging you to never put me in that position. Instead, let me be the woman you came to know and love, the same woman who fell deeply in love with you.
While I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, I want you to know that I’ll always treasure our time together, however brief. In a way, I want you to know that I’ll always believe that you saved me. Had you not come along, I think a vital, precious part of myself would have simply dried up and withered away; now, with our memories to sustain me—with my memories of you—I finally feel as if I can go on. Thank you for that. Thank you for everything.
I already miss you. I miss your teasing and your terrible jokes, and your slightly crooked smile, even your silly attempts to get me to roll my eyes. Most of all, I miss your friendship, and the way you always made me feel as though I were the most desirable woman in the world. I do love you, and if I were living a different life, I would follow you anywhere.
I love you,
Natalie
When I finished reading the letter, I rose from my spot on the couch and wandered to the kitchen on unsteady legs. Opening the refrigerator, I found a beer and twisted off the cap before taking a long pull. Then, returning to the living room, I stared out the French doors, imagining where Natalie might be in this very moment—perhaps visiting her parents at the beach and taking a long and quiet stroll on the shore. Every now and then, she would examine a seashell, or maybe stop to follow the flight of some pelicans as they skimmed low over the breakers. Perhaps, I wanted to believe, she was remembering me in that very same instant, holding our love close like a comforting secret in her otherwise merciless world.
I was glad she’d written me the letter and wondered whether she wanted a letter in return. Maybe I’d write one, or because it might make things even more difficult for her, maybe I wouldn’t. I didn’t have the energy to make that decision.
Instead, returning to the couch, I set the beer on the table. And with a sigh, I began to read the letter again.
Epilogue
Though I began many letters to Natalie, in the end I never sent them. Nor, during my regular but infrequent visits to New Bern, did I seek out or call