Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(78)

Fuck.

This was harder than it should be. I had a home, a life to get back to. A single life. A life I’d been living for six years. A life I’d told my sister I wanted to ruin, but here I was, rushing back into it.

The past two weeks had been strange. With school in full swing, we’d spent most of our nights helping kids with homework. We’d had dinner together, watched TV if there was time or played a game. And through it all, Molly and I had existed in peace.

Something unexpected had happened since that last fight. It had been calm. Quiet. Like the angry ghost had curled up in its grave to finally rest.

We’d gotten along after the divorce, but this was different. This wasn’t simply a sense of civility or friendship. This week had been . . . easy. It was all out there. The wounds were exposed to the air and they were closing up.

Years too late.

“Finn?” Molly called.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to grab the mail.”

I hung my head. “All right.”

There was one more letter. One I’d written at the time of the divorce. I’d been walking on eggshells, expecting it to come.

I hoped it would be today. That when I left, we’d be done with them for good.

I quickly finished packing my stuff then went into the guest bedroom and zipped it all into my suitcase. With it loaded and a bulging backpack slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the living room and put them both next to the couch.

Then I waited for Molly to come back inside, holding a stack of envelopes in one hand, a single envelope in the other.

“It came?”

“It did.” She crossed the room and extended the letter. “Here.”

“Go ahead.”

“No, it’s okay.”

I took the envelope from her hand. “I thought you wanted to read them.”

“I did. I don’t need to anymore.”

“Why?”

She gave me a sad smile. “Because you finally told me how you felt.”

If nothing else, that had made writing these letters worth it.

I tore into the envelope, pulling out the single sheet of paper. A sharp sting hit my chest as I remembered how I’d felt that day. Six years later and it was still hard to believe we’d quit each other.

“Here.” I held out the letter, but Molly shied away. “It’s raw. But . . . it’s real.”

“Okay.” She took it and read it over. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I feel the same way. We gave up on each other.”

“How?” I asked. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. The days got so hard. We stopped fighting for each other and fought for ourselves instead. In the end, I think it—us—got to be too much and we gave up. I’m sorry.”

I hated hearing those words from her mouth. It seemed like she’d said them so damn much. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t apologize to me anymore.”

“Huh?”

I took the letter and crumpled it into a tight ball. “This letter is bullshit. Well, half of it. You didn’t quit me. I quit you. I haven’t said this enough, but I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, Molly.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, then she closed her eyes. “I think we’ve apologized plenty. Maybe we could both stop.”

“Not quite yet.” I stepped closer and took both her hands in mine. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away after Jamie died. For putting Alcott above our marriage and using work as an excuse to hide from my feelings. For being such a fucking asshole to you after we got divorced. For all these letters. You didn’t deserve how I treated you.”

Molly rocked back on her heels, the shock of hearing my statement written all over her face.

Which meant this apology wasn’t just necessary, it was long overdue.

I’d blamed her for our divorce. I’d given her the cold shoulder for months in the hopes of making her pay for how hurt I’d been. I’d been in so much pain it had physically hurt me to look at her.

“It wasn’t fair for me to put it all on you,” I told her.

Tears welled in her eyes. “You had a good reason.”

“No, I didn’t.” I framed her face with my hands. “I’m sorry.”

A tear fell. “Thank you for saying that.”

The distance between us was only inches but I pulled her into my chest and wrapped her up tight. I breathed in the rosemary and mint scent of her hair as she wrapped her arms behind my back.

Our embrace didn’t last long. Much too soon, Molly pushed me away. “That’s the last letter, right?”

I nodded. “That’s it.”

“Phew.” She smiled, blinking her eyes dry. “I’m glad. I can’t take all this crying. I’m getting dehydrated.”

I chuckled. “You think we’ll ever figure out who was sending them?”

“Since we’ve interrogated every person we know, I’m thinking it’s a mystery for the ages.”

“We didn’t ask the kids.”

Molly blew out a long breath. “I don’t think it’s them.”