Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(32)

I haven’t said a thing about the wedding. I told you to do whatever you wanted, that all I cared about was that at the end of the day, you’d be my wife. But I’ve changed my mind. Now I want something. I want you to stop listening to the toxic words that spew out of your mother’s mouth. I want you to stop letting her poison seep into our life. I want you to stop doubting me. Doubting us.



It’s our life, Molly. Me and you. And every time you have one of your “sessions” with her, she twists you in knots. She says that I might not love you enough. She says that I may eventually look at other women behind your back. She says that our marriage could hold you back from your own dreams.



It’s all bullshit. I know it. You know it. She knows it.

She knows you’re the love of my life. She knows you’re the only woman I see and ever will. But that woman fucking hates me. She has from day one. Nothing I do will ever be good enough because she thinks you can do better.



Fuck that. And fuck her.



You get twenty-four hours of space. That’s it. There is no version of my future where you aren’t by my side. So take your space. Sort it out in your head, just like I know you will. You always do. Then put it aside. Because we’re getting married next week. And I can’t wait to call you my wife.



I love you.



Yours,

Finn





Seven





Finn





I opened the door to The Maysen Jar and stepped inside, scanning the room. The second I spotted her face, I spun back for the door.

Did she see me?

“Hello, Finn.”

Yep. Shit.

I slowly turned around, wishing I had looked through the front windows more closely before coming inside. “Hello, Deb.”

Molly’s mother gritted her teeth. “Deborah.”

“Right.” I snapped my fingers. “Deborah.”

For the first eight years I’d known her, she’d gone by Deb. Then she’d decided a woman of her age shouldn’t go by shortened names. She hated Deb, so I only called her Deb. I took every opportunity to get my digs. She did the same. Deborah even bad-mouthed me to my own children.

“Leaving already?” she asked.

More like trying to escape. “Forgot my wallet in the truck.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure my daughter and your sister rarely make you pay.”

“Yes, but I do like to support the business.”

Deborah gestured to the seat across from her, silently commanding me to sit. She looked like she always did, stiff and snobby in her black pantsuit. I’d never seen the woman in jeans. She had the same hair as Molly, but while her daughter let those dark curls run wild, Deb kept hers chopped short. It was just long enough to pull up into her fancy twists.

Her appearance screamed I’m better, smarter and richer than you’ll ever be.

On a different day, I’d walk away from my former mother-in-law without another word. She could shove that chair up her ass for all I cared. But today, I was playing nice.

It had been a week since the latest letter had shown up in Molly’s mailbox, the one I’d written in a moment of extreme frustration before the wedding. In that week, Molly had hardly spoken to me. If I pissed off Deb, no way would Molly be willing to talk today.

Her silence was killing me.

I’d apologized, but the damage had been done. Molly had pulled away over the last week. She’d gone quiet. Something I knew meant she was hurt.

I’d stayed away, giving her some space. I hadn’t been to the house to work on the yard. I’d had the kids over the weekend and a few days this week. The nights when they were at home with her, I’d scheduled evening meetings with Bridget to review designs so I wouldn’t be tempted to go over to Molly’s.

But it was the weekend again and I wanted to work on the yard, which would be a hell of a lot easier if Molly wasn’t dodging eye contact and running away from me.

So here I was, taking a seat across from my ex-mother-in-law to make sure I didn’t further piss off my ex-wife.

“How are you today?” I asked Deb.

“I’m well. I was just down to see Molly. She’s been so busy.”

I squirmed in my chair as her eyes looked me up and down. There was no way Molly had told Deb about us, was there? As far as I knew, Molly hadn’t told anyone about our affair. The last person who would understand or have anything decent to say about it was her mother.

“Molly likes to be busy. She thrives on it.” I studied Deb’s reaction. If she did know about the affair, she wasn’t giving it away.

“It’s not mentally healthy to be so stressed.”

Ahh. The busy comment wasn’t about the affair. It was about Dr. Deborah Todd’s constant need to pick apart every one of Molly’s emotions.

In her mind, it wasn’t right to have the normal gamut of emotions that came with life. Whenever Molly was worried or sad or angry, they’d have a session so Deborah could help delve into the root cause and diagnose a cure. If Molly wasn’t in a constant state of tranquility, then there was something wrong with her.

“I don’t think Molly is stressed.” As if she’d heard my cue, Molly came out of the kitchen with a wide smile on her face. “See?”