Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(76)

He hesitated, long enough that I knew his answer would be honest. “I know.”

We sat there in silence for a long time. The birds chirped as they flew between the trees. The slight breeze rustled the leaves. The world was bright and beautiful.

Everywhere but on this step.

The gloom hovered over our heads. The weight of all that had happened sat on our shoulders.

“It’s too heavy,” I said, breaking the quiet.

“What’s too heavy?”

“The past. It’s too heavy to forget.” It was too heavy to forgive.

But that was what needed to happen. We had to forgive. Each other. Ourselves.

How many times had I wished to go back in time and change my actions? How many hours had I spent loathing myself? I’d been living with so much regret. So much guilt.

Until I forgave myself for being human and flawed and impulsive, the past would haunt me.

It would haunt us.

“Can you forgive me?” I asked Finn.

He leaned back to look in my face. His eyes gave me the answer before his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Fair enough.”

The silence returned, the only noises on the porch coming from the neighborhood. A kid was playing basketball on the next block over and the thud of the ball’s dribbling echoed off the homes. A plane flew overhead, the buzz fading as it ascended into the clouds. The world went on around us without a care as Finn and I sat frozen on the porch, reeling from the truth.

Things might have been so different . . . if only.

If only.

Finn cleared his throat. “My doctor said with my PT going so well, I could get into a different boot or maybe no boot at all in two weeks. Regardless, I should be able to drive by the end of the month. Would you mind if I stayed until then? I’d like a little more time with the kids.”

“Okay.”

As hard as it would be to have him here, it was the right thing to do. I wanted to ease Kali and Max into the fact that we were all splitting up again.

It was for the best.

“I’m sorry, Molly.”

I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Finn.”

“I love you.”

I closed my eyes. “I love you too.”

It felt good to say those words. To let them float into the wind and fade with the sunshine.

It felt good to say those words.

One last time.





- LETTER -





I never thought this would be us. I never imagined we’d be here, getting a divorce.



I feel like I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning in our bed and this will all have been a nightmare. But it’s real.



I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of myself.



You quit me.



And I quit you.





Seventeen





Finn





“I’m done.” Max rushed over from his corner of the yard.

“Awesome. Let me check.” I pushed up off the grass and slowly made my way to the other side of the yard. My boot had been removed yesterday and the doctor said I’d be fine to walk with only my crutch. But that thing was a pain in the ass, so I’d ditched it in an empty hallway at the hospital and I was taking it slow instead.

Max beat me across the yard and was jumping up and down next to the patch he’d been smoothing out with mulch. “See?”

I grinned. “Looks perfect, son.”

His chest swelled with pride. “What’s next?”

I spun in a slow circle, taking in the yard. Over the last two weeks, I’d spent most of my free time out here. With things being tense and awkward with Molly, I’d escaped to the yard to finish the project I’d started at the beginning of summer.

The odd angles and sharp corners had been removed. The trees and shrubs Molly hadn’t liked—the ones I’d planted as experiments—had been removed. All that remained was to plant her lilac bush.

Kali was on her hands and knees in the opposite corner of the yard, tending to the hole we’d dug. Because lilacs had a tendency to get so large, I wanted this one to have plenty of room to grow and bloom. Even with the distance, the fragrant blossoms would carry across the yard to the back deck. If Molly left the screen open, she’d catch whiffs of the scent all spring.

“Run inside and get your mom,” I told Max.

He nodded and took off while I ambled toward Kali.

“I poured the water in the bottom, just like you said.” She smiled up at me. “What’s next?”

“We’ll take the burlap off the roots and get it set.” I pulled a utility knife from my pocket and bent down, cutting away the cloth from the bush’s roots.

“Dad, I . . .” Kali hesitated, her eyes aimed at the hole.

“What?” I asked gently.

She gave me those sad eyes, the ones that melted my heart. “I wish you didn’t have to go to your house.”

I tossed the knife aside and put my hand on her shoulder. “Me too. But that’s where I live.”

“Do you . . . never mind.” She dropped her gaze to the dirt, spreading some beneath her fingers.

I gave her time, letting her work up the courage to talk. That was the way with Kali. She’d always open up if I didn’t rush her. She was like me in that way. She pondered things before she spoke. She kept more inside than I wished she would.