137. Nate

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SEVEN

NATE

"Rosie, Rosie, Rosie." My vision blurs as I bump into the wall. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Agony radiates through my body as I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor.

I clutch Rosie's fucking suicide letter in one hand and press the other hand to my chest.

And then I cry.

I've never cried so much in my life.

I've never felt so much in my life.

Not until Rosie.

Not until this beautiful woman.

This lonely girl.

This child version of my person who went through so much hell.

I curl forward.

And I remember the last letter in the box.

The last one she wrote me.

The one where she said she saw me on the TV in the hospital.

I think of the way my heart broke reading that.

How I read it… but how I didn't fucking understand.

A sound crawls out of my throat. And it's anguish .

This is the secret.

This is the barbed wire Rosie keeps wrapped around her soul.

And she called it murder.

It wasn't fucking murder.

It was self-defense.

I press my hand harder against my chest, like I can push my heart back in time.

Like I can help her.

She was just a kid.

At fucking nineteen, Rosie was still a child who had to kill her father in self-defense.

It was him or me. And I only had enough pills for one of us.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on trying to breathe.

I was so close to losing Rosie.

A sob seizes my lungs.

I was so close to never having her.

Behind my eyelids, I picture the life I want us to have together.

I picture her happy.

I picture her safe.

I picture the children we'll have.

And I cry even more for the future we almost lost.

And then I think about Rosie, right now, all alone in my bed.

I shove up to my feet and stumble toward the door.

She'll never feel alone again.

Not ever.

Not for a moment.

With the letter in hand, I forget about everything else I was going to take with me, and I leave Rosie's apartment.

She's not coming back here.

She's not leaving me.

I won't let her go.

I won't let her go.

I repeat those words in my head as I drive back.

As I enter my condo.

As I walk straight to my bedroom.

And when I see her .

When I see my Rosie.

I drop the letter and strip my shirt and sweatpants off.

I need to be close to her.

I need to feel her heat against my skin.

Instead of going to my side of the bed, I climb in behind her, and I wrap her in my arms.

I hold her as close as possible.

I hold her as my tears soak into the pillow.

I hold her even after I fall asleep.