I glanced once more at the collection of letters he had written to me before everything between us crumbled. At one time, those letters held meaning. Now? They were nothing but beautifully crafted lies etched in ink. Promises that were made only to be broken—something Darrell had become very good at.
One by one, I ripped the letters apart. The tearing sound brought a strange sense of satisfaction, as if each shred was lifting a burden off my chest. I was nearing the last few when his voice pierced the air—sharp, loud, and rattled with panic.
“What are you doing, Debbie?!”
I turned, startled, as he stormed into the room, his eyes darting between the torn fragments in my hands and those already thrown into the waste bin. He lunged forward, grabbing the letter I held and digging through the trash for the others, his face twisted in both disbelief and frustration.
“Why did you destroy them?” he demanded, his voice cracking with emotion as he stared at the shredded papers like they were sacred relics. “Is this because of Carla? Don’t they mean anything to you anymore? I wrote those for us—for our love, our memories, Debbie!”