Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(6)

“Right. And then I did all those things—hired a second event planner, joined a gym, took a beach vacation, and I still felt . . .” I threw up my hands and looked at her again. “Stuck in this lonely, unhappy place. Like I’m on an island by myself watching everyone else on the mainland being happy.”

Prisha regarded me silently for a moment. “April, it was clear to me very quickly that you weren’t going to become happier just by working less. Once we explored your past, I felt certain that the isolation you were experiencing, and that sense of feeling stuck, was not because of your job, but because of this secret you’ve kept for eighteen years—this unfinished chapter in your life. You never wanted to tell anyone about the baby you gave up because you were scared they’d judge you the way you judge yourself, so you never let anyone get close to you. It was a protective measure.”

I nodded, the lump forming in my throat again.

“Putting that letter in the mailbox—when you’re ready—is a step toward writing the end of that chapter, but talking out loud about what you went through will be just as important. I want to encourage you to open up about this to someone in your life that you trust. You’ve said only your mother and grandmother knew about the baby, is that correct?”

“And my older sister, Sylvia. But I have three more sisters I never told.”

She met my eyes. “Is there one of them you can trust?”

“I trust all of them,” I said honestly.

“Good. Your homework is to tell one—or all—of them about this time in your life. As scared as you are, as uncomfortable as it makes you, I believe it’s necessary for you to heal. Once that’s done, see how you feel about sending that letter.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. If I really wanted to get unstuck, I’d have to be brave.

“There’s something else,” I blurted.

“Oh?”

I looked down at the letter in my hands. “The baby’s father—there’s a good chance I might see him for the first time since . . . since then. His sister is getting married a week from tonight, and I’m the wedding planner.”

“I see.” She reached for her iPad. “How does that make you feel?”

“Nervous, I guess.” I played with one corner of the envelope. “I’m afraid I won’t know how to act. Once upon a time, we were really close friends. But then afterward . . . we never spoke again.”

“You’ve said you’re not angry with him.”

“I’m not. He felt just as terrible about what happened as I did. He apologized over and over again.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

I looked up at her. “Of course. We were both at fault.”

She nodded slowly and asked the question I was dreading. “Have you forgiven yourself?”

Two months ago, I probably would have lied and said yes. I might have even believed the lie. But I was trying harder to find the truth these days.

“I’m working on it,” I told her.

“Good.” She smiled softly. “And perhaps the timing of this reunion isn’t ideal from one perspective, but may I suggest another way to look at it?”

“Of course.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways, April. Perhaps this timing is meant to nudge you in the right direction. To help you let go of regret and embrace change.”

“Like a sign?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Call it anything you like. Just don’t be afraid of it. Only you have the power to hold yourself back or push yourself forward. Decide for yourself which one it will be.”





Later that evening, I pulled a bottle of wine from my fridge.

After leaving the therapist’s office, I’d texted my sisters and asked if they could come over to my place around eight. I was afraid if I waited any longer to confide in them, I’d lose my nerve.

I heard the front door of my condo open and shut. “Hello?”

“In the kitchen,” I called, uncorking the bottle.

My sister Meg walked in, dressed in a skirt, blouse, and heels, as if she’d just come from the office. “Hey,” she said, hanging her purse on the back of a kitchen chair. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said, taking four glasses down from a cupboard. There were five Sawyer sisters, and we all loved wine, but our oldest sister Sylvia was pregnant. “How’s the new job?”

Meg, the middle sister, had recently moved back from D.C. and taken a position as an attorney at a regional branch of the American Association for People with Disabilities. “I love it,” she enthused, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “It’s long hours, and I wish I saw Noah more, but the job is perfect for me. Want me to pour this?”

“Sure.”

Noah was Meg’s boyfriend and the reason she’d moved home. He was a K-9 cop with the local sheriff’s department, and they’d always been the best of friends, but last fall while she was home for our youngest sister Frannie’s wedding, they’d finally admitted to themselves what the rest of us had seen all along—they were perfect for each other.

Chloe, the second youngest, arrived as I was putting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, and she was bubbling over with excitement because our father was finally going to retire for good this month, which meant she’d really get to take over as CEO of Cloverleigh Farms. My parents started the business as a small sustainable farm but it had grown to encompass an inn, a farm-to-table restaurant, a winery, and a brand new small-batch distillery that Chloe and her fiancé Oliver were opening. It was also one of the top wedding venues in the state.