Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,71

the weekend. I’m having dinner with Ashley and Sean tomorrow, but otherwise I’m planning to work for most of the weekend.

At least when I’m working, I’m not moping about Richard.

When I get home, I fix myself a sandwich for dinner and eat it standing over the counter and reading my phone. Then I turn on the television and start to draw myself a bath.

I’ll take a bath, watch some TV, and go to bed early. Then I’ll wake up and go to a coffee shop to work. It helps to get out of the house, and I like the white noise and occasional distraction that a coffee shop provides.

I’m doing okay. Every Friday night will be easier. And one day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much to think about Richard. I’ll be happy again. I’ll look with interest at other men. I won’t see his blue eyes and silvering hair and dry smile around every corner.

This is life. People come into your life and leave it again. Sometimes they’re taken from you when it’s the last thing in the world you want. But it’s not the end of the story. This isn’t going to be the end of mine.

When my tub is almost full, I check the temperature and add a few bath salts before I turn off the water. I’m about to get in when I remember I left my phone in the kitchen, so I go to grab it, noticing the letter sticking out of my bag as I do.

I reach for that too, remembering I had no idea what it was. It’s addressed to me. My name is right there on the mailing address. Gillian Meadowbrook.

No one handwrites letters anymore. It’s very strange. A Boston return address.

I’m naked and about to step into the bath as I rip open the envelope and pull the letter out. It’s thick. More than a page. As I unfold it, I see the whole thing is handwritten.

I gasp when I see the signature at the end.

Richard.

I sit down on the closed lid of my toilet, the porcelain cold against my bare butt, and read the letter.

Gillian, I know you asked me to let you go, and I’m trying to do that. I don’t know if this letter is crossing any lines, but there are some things I need to tell you, and this is the only way I can think of to do so.

I’ve moved to Boston. Please don’t think it’s a stalker move. I bought that coffee shop I told you about. I was already in talks with the owner, and we’re in a transition period now until I take full ownership in a couple of months. We’re trying to do it in a way that keeps it open so we don’t lose regular customers. I’m not trying to crowd you. If you don’t want to see me, you won’t. I’m going to stay out of your neighborhood so you won’t accidentally run into me. It’s just that I’d started to make plans for a new life, and those plans were in Boston. I didn’t want to give everything up just because I’ve lost you. I wanted at least a piece of the new life I’d envisioned for myself, even if that life can never have you.

I wanted to make sure to tell you so you wouldn’t find out secondhand and think I was creeping on you. If you want me to stay away from you, I’ll do it—even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m going to try to be the man you always saw. The man you wanted me to be. I know I failed you in that. I know there’s no making up for what I did to you. But I don’t want you to have been wrong about me. You believed in me when no one else ever did. You saw something good in me that I didn’t even know was there. So I’m going to try to make what you saw in me true.

Like I said, I won’t call you or approach you or get in the way of your life if you don’t want me to. But if you ever want to talk, just come by the coffee shop. I’m there most of the time. I’m not expecting to see you, but I wanted you to know that the thought of you one day not hating me is what’s keeping me going right now. So nothing would make me happier