Rafe, this is the last time I’ll write, and you’ll be safe because you’ll never read these letters. You’ll live your life hating me, and I’ll have to find a way to live with that. If I could say one thing to you right now, it would be how sorry I am. He did it because I love you.

Yours always,

Alex

I dropped the page, watched it flutter to the ground, and stared at it for what seemed like forever. She waited inside, and I found it ironic that she was scared to face me. That she wanted my forgiveness. I’d kidnapped and done unforgivable acts—things I couldn’t even recall—to a victim of rape. Maybe I’d feel differently if I remembered the last eight years, but I didn’t.

So that begged the question…what the fuck was I supposed to say to her?

Gathering her letters, I rose to my feet and pulled the screen door open. She’d left the front door cracked. Slowly, I stepped inside and the sound of running water brought me into the kitchen where I found her loading my fucking dishwasher like it was an everyday chore she did.

She must have sensed my presence because she shut off the faucet, though she didn’t move or turn around. “You read them?”

“Every word.” I wanted to ask her so many things. Why didn’t she send the letters? Why was she giving them to me now? Most of all, I wanted to know the name of the scumbag who’d raped her. I had my suspicions, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it yet. I placed the envelopes on the table and fisted my hands. With all the pent-up rage rushing through my veins, I was surprised at how level my words came out. “Why are you doing my dishes?”

She shrugged. “To stay busy.”

“Can you turn around and talk to me?”

“I’m scared, Rafe.”

“I already told you”—willing the anger to leave my voice and body, I unfurled my fists and relaxed my stance—“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She propped against the counter, fingers clutching the edge. “I’m scared of what you’re thinking. We’ve been through so much together, but letting you read those letters was like giving you free access to my journal.”

“Why’d you do it then?”

She dropped her head. “I let everyone around me dictate my life. I’ve basically been a doormat. What I did, sending you away like that when you hadn’t even touched me…if I could change one thing, it would be that.” She inhaled then let the breath out in a whoosh. “I want to make this right,” she said, voice fracturing, “but I don’t know if I can do it alone.”