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Twenty Three

Present

I ’d like you to know, I did love you.

Do love you still. I do.

You’re engraved in my soul. Etched on my heart. The following day you refused my calls, texts, and emails.

And the day after that.

I was distraught. Overcome by a deep sadness. In my funk, nothing consoled me. I crept through the tunnels at night but took no pleasure in what I saw.

It meant nothing anymore. It gave no relief. No excitement.

I fidgeted as I observed.

I moved from one room to the next—restless and anxious.

I broke my cardinal rule. No phone.

I was waiting for you to call, checking endlessly to see if you would reach out. I didn’t want to miss it if you did. Days without you felt like years.

I was crumbling.

Phone in pocket I moved from louver to louver—watching.

And then you called.

Tears prick my eyes. It was me.

My fault.

He’s in prison because of me. Yet still, he loved me.

Loves me.

The weight of their stares presses against me, heavy with expectation. My fingers tighten around the wine glass in my hand, the rim cold against my lips as I take a slow sip, buying myself another second. Another breath. Another chance to rethink this.

But I don’t.

I set the glass down. “He was caught because of me.”

Aubry, who had been reaching for another dumpling, freezes. “What?”

I nod, staring at the deep red of my wine. “I called him. That’s how they found him. He answered my call.”

I look up, and their reactions are exactly what I expected—shock, confusion, and a glimmer of something else. Maybe concern. Maybe judgment.

Nora tilts her head. “You called him?”

I nod. “I had to. I—I needed to.” My breath shudders as I exhale. “The truth is, I just wanted to hear his voice.”

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

Aubry’s expression shifts—softer, sadder. “Robin…”

I shake my head. “I know. I know it’s wrong. I know who he is. What he is.” My voice drops to something raw and unguarded. “He’s a sexual deviant. A manipulator. A man who watches and obsesses and—” My breath hitches. “And I still love him.”

Eve flinches, just slightly, but I catch it. “You still love him?”

I nod once. “Even now. Even knowing everything. Even knowing I should be repulsed.” My fingers press into my palm. “I can’t turn it off.”

Aubry lets out a long, slow breath. “Jesus.”

Nora studies me, unreadable. “Have you told him?”

I bark out a laugh. “What, that I still love him after I caused his capture? No. And I won’t.”

Aubry leans forward, her voice softer now. “Why don’t you?”

I look down at my hands, the weight of my confession sinking deep into my bones.

“Because when he looked at me, I felt seen. Because in the courtroom he pleaded with his eyes to absolve myself from any culpability, he never gave me up. Because when he touched me, I felt wanted. Because for all his sins, for all his darkness…” I let out a shaky breath. “He never outright lied to me.”

The letter sits between us like a living thing, heavy with unspoken words. The edges are worn now, passed between hands, read and re-read, as if the meaning could shift under their gazes. My fingers twitch against the stem of my wine glass, my heart a restless thing in my chest.

I wait for them to tell me I’m insane. That I’m weak. That I need to forget him.

But they don’t.

Aubry is the first to speak. “You need to write him back.”

I blink. “What?”

“You need to write him back,” she repeats, firmer this time.

She lifts the letter between two fingers, tapping it against her palm.

“You love him. That much is obvious. And if you don’t tell him what you need, what you expect if there’s ever going to be anything between you again, you’re just going to torture yourself for the next four years and six months. ”

I swallow hard. “Aubry…”

“She’s right,” Nora interrupts. Her gaze is steady, but there’s something warm in it. Understanding. “If you love him, if you’re even considering this, then you have to set boundaries. He cannot—cannot—watch people in private spaces anymore.”

My breath catches. “That’s who he is.”

“No,” Eve interjects, shaking her head. “That’s what he chooses to be.

And he can choose to stop.” Her expression hardens, but there’s no cruelty in it.

“If he can’t, then he doesn’t get you. He said as much right here.

” She jabs the papers. “‘In a perfect world, I would have understood that what we had, what we participated in, was enough to satisfy me. I would have stopped watching at the inn. I would have boarded up the faux louvers and washed my hands of it. What we had, what we did, satisfied me.’”

The words hit me deep, striking something fragile inside me.

Aubry leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Robin, you have to be enough. If this is going to work—if you’re ever going to have a real chance—he has to want you more than he wants his obsession.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell them it’s not that simple, not for addicts. I rub my temples. “You’re all assuming he even wants to hear from me.”

Eve snorts. “He sent you a letter, Robin. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want a response.”

I exhale shakily, looking between them. “And if I write to him, and he says no? That he can’t promise me that?”

Nora’s voice is gentle but firm. “Then you walk away.”

I nod slowly, letting the weight of it settle in. “Four years and six months.” The words taste strange on my tongue.

A long time. A short time. A lifetime.

Nora reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “We’re with you. No matter what.”

Eve smirks. “Yeah, even if we think you’re out of your damn mind.”

I huff out a breath, half a laugh, half a sob. “Thanks.”

Aubry grins. “Now, let’s get you some nice stationery. If you’re going to send a letter to your criminally attractive, emotionally unavailable ex, you cannot do it on lined notebook paper.”

I shake my head, but a small smile finds its way to my lips. I should have known that these women would understand.

Nora had fallen in love with a monster and survived it only to fall in love with his brother, who not only understood her need for a different kind of romance but thrived in providing it.

Aubry, with Mike, who saved her from being trafficked. Eve, who not only survived Nora’s monster but escaped and who never gave up on finding her little sister that she’d had to leave behind.

They’re exactly the women who would understand and see past societal norms and conventions and social graces.

“Okay. But I’m most certainly not writing it with you all here.”