I’d spent 12 years running from life.
That night, lying in bed beside Walter, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about the note.
What if he wasn’t who I thought he was? What if this whole thing had been a lie?
I’d just started to be happy again. I’d just started to feel alive.
What if I were about to lose it all?
The next day, I lied to Walter.
“I’m going to the library. Just need to return some books.”
What if he wasn’t who I thought he was?
He smiled and kissed my forehead.
“Don’t be gone too long. I’ll miss you.”
“I won’t.”
I got in my car and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
Part of me wanted to tear up the note and forget about it.
But I couldn’t. I’d made a choice to face life head-on. That meant facing the truth, whatever it was.
I drove to the address on the note.
I’d made a choice to face life head-on.
What was I going to find?
Some terrible truth that would destroy everything?
At my age, love felt borrowed. Like it could be taken away at any moment.
I had just learned how to be happy again. I didn’t know if I could survive another goodbye.
But I had to know.
When I pulled up to the address, I froze.
It was a building I recognized.
