Page 167 of Shamed
I lift my glass again, sipping the sweet drink and licking my lips before plopping it back onto the table.
I guess it’s fucking time I found out.
Leaning forward, I swipe the envelope from my thigh and finally tear it open, sucking in a deep, fortifying breath before reading it.
Dear Jacob,
I’m sure you were never expecting to hear from me again, and honestly, I’d be surprised if you’re reading this. You have every right to hate me. In fact, I’ve spent many years hating myself as well.
There are not enough words in the world to describe just how sorry I am for what I put you through.
There are not enough minutes in the day to explain how much I regret what happened.
As you would have learned, I didn’t accuse you out of malicious intent. I didn’t lie to have you arrested, while knowing you were innocent. It was a mistake . . . the biggest mistake of my life.
But that doesn’t change the end result.
It doesn’t change the fact that I sent you to hell and left you there to suffer.
Because of me, you served a decade-long sentence, with several years of after-effects that followed.
And I willneverbe able to forgive myself for what I did to you.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this letter, to be honest, because I’m not asking for forgiveness from you. I’m not asking to meet up with you or for you to write back to me.
I guess . . . I guess I just wanted you to know, that above anything else, I wish you happiness, and I wish you peace. I hope that whatever you may be doing in your life now, that you have both of those things.
And if you do, hold on tight and never let them go, because happiness and peace are more valuable than anything else.
I lived far too long without either.
I eventually found happiness over the years, but peace? That only came when your name was finally cleared.
I wish it hadn’t taken so long. I wish for a lot of things. But mostly, I just wish you the best.
Be well, Jacob. Be happy, and be free.
Jennifer.
I lean back, exhaling a weighted breath, and stare out at the dark ocean sprinkled with tiny lights over the horizon, a sense of calm settling in my bones.
There wasn’t any part of me that expected to hear from her again, and when she dropped this letter off, I didn’t think I needed to read it.
I’m glad I did.
Nothing profound lay hidden between the folded pages, and yet, I sense something shift inside, deep in my soul.
The back door slides open, then closed, and I feel Remi’s grounding presence before she’s visible.
She comes into view, holding our six-month-old son Pearson in her arms, a soft smile on her full lips.
“Hey.” Remi lowers herself onto the chair beside me, noticing the opened letter on my thigh.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I reach out to take Pearson, and he snuggles into my chest, already sleepy. “Poppy in bed already?”
“I told her to brush her teeth and then come say goodnight.” Her hazel eyes connect with mine, then drift to my lap. “You finally read it?”
I nod, moving the letter to the table once again. “Yeah.”
