[It’s just that it’s still too far away. My heart breaks thinking about you.]
William grew up in a foreign country, always mixing in that dry, foreign sense of humor. Over the past five years, the files he sent me have piled up into a mountain, filling my entire inbox. The pictures he took of me, the words of love he wrote—I backed them up separately, afraid that one day they might disappear. But I never replied. For so long, it had been his one-man show.
Because unlike Ferry, I knew that I had married a man, and I had my own sense of propriety. I always thought that, given time, William would eventually let go of me. But he never did.
I sat there quietly, scrolling through the letters from the past. Memories flooded my heart, and for a second, two little voices argued inside me. Then my phone beeped. Ferry had transferred ten million dollars to my account with a message.
[This is my fault. Consider this my compensation.]
But no amount of money could erase my hatred. And at that moment, I finally realized—my life was mine to live. Not for him, not for my family. For myself.
A rush of excitement coursed through me as I typed out my reply to William’s email.