Into a tiny rental with uneven floors and peeling paint—but it was mine. I bought second-hand furniture, learned how to hang shelves, and rediscovered what kind of music I actually liked. Funny enough, it wasn’t the soft jazz Lyle always put on during dinner.
I started listening to old soul records. Loud. With the windows open.
One Saturday morning, about a year later, I ran into Lyle at the farmer’s market. He looked older, like he’d been carrying the weight of a thousand apologies. We talked.
Not about us—but about life. He told me his sister had just had a baby. I told him I was learning to bake, badly.
Before we parted, he said, “I think about that note every day.”
I nodded. “I don’t.”
And I meant it. Not out of cruelty—but because I’d finally let it go.
Sometimes the truth shatters you. But other times, it sets you free. I lost a marriage, yes.
But I found myself again in the pieces. So if you ever find a note like that in a forgotten box, remember: what hurts you today might be the thing that saves you tomorrow.
