I think you made a mistake when you ran away from this place. I think you made a mistake when you ran away from Sawyer. (Mind you, I think he made a mistake with that hurtful stunt he pulled, but I suspect he had his reasons.) I’m not sorry I didn’t let you turn your back on university, but I didn’t realize your absence was going to be permanent.

I also think I made a mistake not telling you all this sooner. I’m writing this from a hospital bed. Yes, I know: so melodramatic. But I am fully in my right mind. You’ll see that the will enclosed is more recent than the one Jason gave you. I am assured by the fancy Toronto lawyers I hired to draft it that it will stand up to any and all legal scrutiny. This is just a regular will. You get the inn. You can do whatever you want with it, whenever you want.

I was hoping, though, that you might think about staying. Maybe not running the inn. I know that might not be your thing. But staying in town. I feel like you love it here, in your heart, and it hurts me to see you leave what you love behind because of…what? Pride? Hurt? Fear? Because I made a mistake?

I don’t know, and I’m sorry I never asked you about it.

But I thought maybe if you were presented, just for a little while, with the idea—if I backed you into a corner—you might sit with your discomfort and discover a truth underneath it. I knew you’d be up here within hours of arriving, so I hope you weren’t freaking out for too long.

I haven’t told anyone yet about this heart attack. For all I know, I’ll recover, everything will be fine, and I’ll change my mind about all this. But I don’t think so. Regardless of what happens right now, I’m old and sick. I don’t have a lot of time left. But it turns out that as you get old, you learn some things. One of the things I learned pretty late in the game—and partly by watching you, my Eve—is that you can be a sad mermaid, or you can be a happy one. You can twist yourself into a mold you think you should fit into. You can give up yourself in the process. Or you can swim with your friends, and sing. And maybe meet a prince. Or maybe not. But regardless, singing is better than crying, isn’t it?

So you have a choice. You can bust me. You can show Jason this will. He’s smarter than he looks, and I have no doubt he’ll figure it out. Or you can rip up this will and this letter and stick around for a while and see what happens.