He laughed and then, oh, Robert, you would’ve loved what he said next. He said, “Maggie, I went on a walk with Syd tonight and we stood for the longest time just looking at the sea. The same sea I’ve stared at a thousand times on a thousand different days. But it’s like tonight it was deeper and wilder and a million times bluer than I’ve ever seen it before. And that’s how everything is now that she’s back.”

I know what you’re thinking—that I’ve paraphrased and prettied up his words. But no, that’s what he said. And with a look in his eyes that could make a person cry. Fine, I DID cry.

In other words, my Neil is in love and I wouldn’t be surprised if Sydney’s wearing that ring by the end of today.

Speaking of which, I need to get outside. It’s not fair to leave the children to deal with Patti Brighton-Smythe on their own. But there’s one more thing I need to tell you, Robert.

This will be my last letter.

Because as it turns out, my sea needs to get deeper and wilder and a million times bluer, too. And yet, I’m afraid with every letter I write to you, with every memory I lose myself in, I’m only wading. Staying at the shore of the past.

I’ve hidden away in this house, Robert. It started with Diana’s accident and progressed through the years to the point that I’m not sure you’d even recognize me if a miracle happened and it turned out you were alive and you returned to the farm and . . .

This is why I have to stop writing. I need to live in today. I need to get to know my neighbors. For instance, Tatum Carter will be here today. He’s accepted Sydney as his granddaughter. He understands why I won’t be selling the farm.

I’ll always love you, Robert. Always. But it’s time to swim.

Although, I suppose I should note that Wilder hasn’t given up on unraveling what happened to Diana and whether Cynthia might still be alive. Something new is driving him. Strange happenings at the farm, for one thing. But also, there are things I’ve remembered . . . it took a treehouse with a spyglass and a heart attack to jog my dormant memories and I still don’t know if they mean anything, but . . . well, Wilder thinks it’s all connected. I won’t ask him to stop pursuing answers.

But nor will I push him as I’ve done before. Because my life is here and now and it’s a good one.