Page 131 of The Good Girl Effect

Am I ready for this?

Maybe what is in this letter is what he tried telling me early this morning. He sounded as if he wanted to give us another shot, but I was too afraid. What if nothing has changed? I can’t go through this again.

An elderly couple nearby glances my way as I stare down at the ominous jewelry box like I’m afraid it might detonate if I touch it. I smile up at them before picking up my latte and busying my hands while I deliberate what I’ll do next.

I go through every single scenario of what could be in that letter. I’m fairly certain Jack didn’t fire me via handwritten letter on Christmas, so that means that whatever is in there is meant to make me feel better. What am I waiting for?

My heart beats wildly in my chest, begging me to open it.

So, with shaking hands, I do.

The letter is in an envelope, much like the one he wrote Emmaline. But instead of her name, it’s mine addressed across the front. Peeling back the paper, I pull out the letter.

While the train station speaker announces trains departing and arriving and Christmas music plays lightly overhead, I block it all out and read Jack’s handwriting.

Dear Camille,

I can imagine it all very vividly in my mind now. I can see you finding that letter in the random book in your tiny used bookstore. I can see you scribbling animals on the inside cover. And I can imagine how strongly you connected to that photo and what I wrote to my soon-to-be wife inside.

I can see it all so well because I know you so well now. You don’t do anything with half of your heart. You’re used to giving more love than you receive. And when you look at someone, you truly see them.

These are all things that made me love you.

I know you brought that letter to my house that day to return it, but I’d like to believe you were brought here by something stronger. Maybe it was fate or divine intervention.

Or maybe you took one look at the photo and saw a man who needed you. And I did.

To be honest, I still do.

I need your stubborn will and fiery temper. I need your strength and your wisdom. I need the laughter and joy you bring to my life. Bea and I both do.

It was always more than bondage and ropes, and we both know it. What you gave me upstairs in that room is far more than I ever expected. You gave me your trust. Your heart. And confidence. You pushed me to be better not only for my daughter but for myself too.

But I know I can’t ask you to fulfill my needs without fulfilling yours. And I think what you need right now is to know that I love you for you. You are not too much. You’re not too loud or too curious. You are not filling a hole in my heart or replacing a person I’ve lost. That hole will always exist, much like the hole left in your heart the day your father passed. I’ve been to enough counseling in the past two months to understand that.

But our hearts and lives will grow around those holes, and I hope more than anything that we can do that together.

I love you so much it hurts, little bird. But I don’t want to hold you down anymore.

When you do fly off, I hope you will take us with you. And if you can’t, I understand.

At least I hope you can take our memories and this apology.

I’m sorry.

Joyeux Noël.

Yours,

Jack

Rule #45: If you’re going to do it, do it right.

Jack

“Don’t you want to decorate the cookies?” I ask, passing Bea a tray of sugar cookies. My kitchen counter is covered in sprinkles and icing.

With a despondent shrug, she takes the icing and unenthusiastically smears it across the white sugar cookie.