It’s strange, if you look at my face, all you see is the happiest bride in the world. And I was happy in that moment. I remember the nagging feeling of something not quite right, and I know now that it was a premonition, but still, in that moment, I remember feeling happy.

I set the box down and put the expensively framed photo on the nightstand. And it feels right. Something inside me tells me this is right.

I’ve grieved for over a year. Sergio is gone. But I have Jacob now. And I have my memories. I’ll take them. Take the bad, the sad, with the good. And in a way, time has been kind to me. Time is making me remember the good ones. Even though I never forget the sad. The feeling is always there, always along the edges of those happy moments, but it’s manageable, more and more as time passes. I’ll always love Sergio. He’ll always be the love of my life. And I’ll honor him. I’ll raise his son to know him. Know his father as I knew him. Devoted and full of love.

That’s what Jacob will know of Sergio.

Because that’s who Sergio was.

2nd Letter from Natasha

Dear Reader,

I told you at my opening letter that Sergio had a very strong voice in my mind during the writing of the book. Well, that was true for most of it. By the time the last scenes came, he’d quieted. I know that he knew what had to happen. He went into it eyes-wide-open, too. And I think that takes courage. My heart broke to write this book. It’s breaking now to write this letter. But I’m glad I did it. Sergio deserved to have his story told and I love his and Natalie’s story so very much. I even love the heartbreak of it.

Thank you so much, again, for spending your time reading my books. You don’t know how much that means to me.

Love,

Natasha

What To Read Next

Killian: a Dark Mafia Romance

“Are you scared?”

She goes rigid. I know she can feel my breath on her neck.

“Answer my question.”

“Yes.” It’s a squeak.

I walk around her, resume my position facing her. “At least one of you is honest. But what kind of message would I be sending if I let your brother walk out of here? If I don’t punish him?”

She drops her head, wipes her nose on her shoulder.

“It wouldn’t be good for business,” I say.

“What are you going to do, then?” she asks, her jaw set when she turns her face up.

“Break a leg. Maybe two.” I shrug my shoulder as Jones starts blabbering some nonsense. I realize he’s probably stoned.