Chapter 25
The kids grew up fast.
Lily went to college, pre-med, just like she’d always wanted. She was smart, and kind, and she volunteered at the free clinic every weekend, just like her mom. She met a nice boy, a fellow pre-med student, and they got engaged the summer after she graduated. We were all so happy for her.
Jamie went to college on a soccer scholarship, studying business. He was going to come work for the company when he graduated, and James was already grooming him to take over one day. He was a natural leader, just like his dad, but he had his mom’s kindness, too. He’d be good at it.
Rose and Thomas were in high school now, inseparable as ever. Rose was an artist, painting and drawing, winning awards for her work. Thomas was a musician, playing guitar in a band with his friends, writing songs that made everyone cry. They were both so talented, so full of life, so happy.
Clara and I were in our fifties now, still happy, still in love. We’d been married for twenty years, and it felt like yesterday. We still held hands when we walked, still kissed each other good morning and good night, still danced in the living room after the kids were asleep.
We’d been through so much together—betrayal, fear, pain, loss—but we’d come through it all, stronger, closer, more in love than ever. We’d built a family, a legacy, a life that was better than anything we’d ever dared to dream.
One day, we got a letter from the prison.
Vanessa had died.
She’d been sick for a long time, cancer, and she’d passed away alone in her cell. She was fifty-eight years old. She’d spent almost half her life in prison, hating us, wasting away. The letter said she’d left a note, asking that it be sent to us.
We opened it together, sitting at the kitchen table.
It was short, just a few lines, written in a shaky hand.
I’ve spent twenty years hating you. Hating Clara. Hating the life you had that I thought I deserved. But I was wrong. I had every chance to be happy, to be good, and I threw it all away because I was greedy and jealous. I’m sorry. For everything. Tell your kids I’m sorry I tried to hurt them. I hope you’re happy. You deserve it.
We sat there in silence for a long time, holding the letter.
I didn’t feel happy that she was dead. I didn’t feel vindicated. I just felt sad. Sad for the woman she could have been, if she’d chosen love instead of hate, kindness instead of cruelty. Sad for the life she’d wasted.
“Are you okay?” Clara asked, putting her hand on mine.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay. It’s just… sad. All that hate, for nothing.”
She squeezed my hand. “We chose differently. That’s what matters. We chose love. We chose each other. And look what we built.”
I looked around the kitchen, at the photos covering the walls—our wedding, the kids’ birthdays, our parents, our friends, all the happy moments. I looked at Clara, still beautiful, still my best friend, still the love of my life.
May you like
She was right.
We’d chosen differently. And that had made all the difference.
