Let me start by saying, I swear on my life, I thought you were dead after the car flipped. I was heartbroken and guilt-stricken, but also terrified. I didn’t know what to do. I saw headlights coming and ran into the woods. Then police cars and an ambulance. They took you away, and I was out there alone in the rain. I was a coward, and so I hiked out through the woods and hitched a ride down the road rather than get arrested with a stolen car.

I was checking the internet after for news about the accident and saw that you survived but couldn’t remember anything. I told myself that maybe that was for the best. I wished I could be the one to forget what happened that night. I wish I hadn’t lived for fifteen years knowing that I could go to jail for the rest of my life. I let myself believe that you were going to be okay.

Then one day, you show up on my boat, and I had to face the reality of the choices I made. I chose to believe you were better off, but how could that possibly be? Maybe your amnesia is because your subconscious has been burying the truth—or at least the truth as I allowed you to believe it.

After that boat ride, I struggled with whether to tell the truth. I even made some calls to someone from my past, even though I had promised never to make contact again.

But then you came back to East Hampton. I saw you walking out of Rowdy Hall and followed you home. It was clear you were living here now. I was shocked. It seemed too impossible to be a coincidence. And then I saw you through the salon window, talking to my girlfriend. I convinced myself you were faking your amnesia, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d do that. I thought maybe you remembered the truth about what happened that night and were going to find a way to punish me—God knows I wouldn’t blame you. So after another night of following you, I finally said, Fuck it, let’s find out.

Your reaction at that house. You were so afraid. It became clear to me you were telling the truth about your amnesia. And so now I owe you the truth.