Epilogue

Wyatt

Five years later

I t’d been a week since I’d seen Odette or Niko. They were returning from Washington state today after meeting with a creative design expert to start rebranding her companies officially.

God, I missed her. The house seemed so bright when she was home, and we were lucky that she rarely needed to travel. Still, one of us (usually Niko) always accompanied her on business trips. He taught part-time for the university and helped Odette run the business. He loved both jobs and insisted he wanted to work with her full-time—she wouldn’t let him. As much as he enjoyed working alongside her and as successful as they’d been in such a short time, she knew his true passion was teaching. She was stubborn and loved him enough to let him pursue both careers.

Their return was all I could think about during my lectures today. Wanting to spend as much time with Odette as possible this weekend, I’d even withheld assigning homework. Feeling the same excitement as me, Aiden did the same, leaving his students shocked. Dominic had also mentioned scheduling fewer patients to be seen on Monday to soak up all of her that we’d been deprived of for the week.

There were still a few hours left in the workday, and I constantly checked my phone for the text they’d landed. She never failed to make me feel like a teenager in love.

Someone’s heavy fist captured my attention and knocked on my office door. “Come in!” I called, thankful someone would take advantage of my office hours and distract me from watching the clock.

A man in a post office uniform stepped into my office, looking out of place. “Wyatt Wright?” He questioned as if my name wasn’t plastered on the front of the door. It was clear he wasn’t a student.

“Yes. How can I help you?” I asked.

He pulled out a white envelope with wrinkled edges from his messenger bag. “This is for you,” he hesitantly stepped up to my desk and handed me the letter.

Typically, when I received mail at work, it was expected and left in my mail slot—not hand-delivered. Feeling suspicious, I turned the envelope over and read the front.

It was addressed to me, with today’s date and the initials CW in the top left corner. I hadn’t heard or thought of that name in years—Charles Whitlock. I narrowed my eyes at the mailman, “Where’d you get this?” I asked calmly, not understanding.

He shrugged. “The guy came into the post office a few years ago with a wad of cash and asked me to deliver it to you on this date. Never saw him again. Sorry, pal,” he explained before closing my door behind him.

Leaning back in my chair, I touched my chin as I contemplated what the hell could be in the damn thing. Would Dominic, Niko, and Aiden get one, too? Odette?

She was doing so well. Her therapy appointments were bi-monthly now, and her dreams had stopped completely. A waitress called her honey a month ago and she didn’t even flinch. The last thing she needed was the ghost of her father sending her fucking letters.

I hope it was just me who’d received one—which didn’t make me feel any better.

My fingers danced over the black wax seal, and I collected myself, preparing for the worst as I opened it.

First, I ensured there were no legal documents, although I knew there weren’t any, the envelope was far too thin to the touch to hold more than a few sheets of paper at most. Seeing nothing but a handwritten letter, I allowed my eyes to scan the page.