Page 120 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

“And the right place is . . .”

I rolled my eyes. “You know the answer to that.”

“I do. But do you? What happened to ruining your life?”

“That plan kind of fell apart when Molly and I got in a fight over one of the letters.” I rubbed my jaw. “It was bad. It was about her and that other guy.”

“Oh.” Poppy’s voice fell.

“She asked me if I could forgive her. I said I didn’t know.”

The other end of the line went silent. It lasted so long,

I was sure I’d dropped the call. “Poppy?”

“I’m here.”

“You don’t have anything to say?”

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“No, I really do.”

“You have no right to hold that night against Molly. And shame on you if you do.”

I winced. Poppy’s sharp tone was one I hadn’t heard in, well, ever. “Ouch.”

“I’m not done.” She. Was. Pissed. “It’s time to pull your head out of your ass. Be with Molly, or for God’s sake, let her go. Please, let her go. She deserves to be happy. You both do. Be the man she needs or walk away. Because we both know she’ll love you until you tell her to stop.”

I loved her too. And I’d been telling myself to stop for years.

“Mommy,” a little voice yelled in the background.

“I’m in here, Brady,” Poppy yelled back. “Finn, I need to go and get dinner started before Cole gets home.”

“Okay,” I croaked.

“Love you. I’ll call you later. And . . . sorry. I’ve been holding that in for a while.”

“Yeah.” I had whiplash. She disconnected the call, but her words were still echoing through my quiet house.

She was right. On all points. I had no right to hold that night against Molly, not when she wasn’t holding so many of my mistakes against me.

So why was it so hard to forgive? To let it go?

I stood from the chair and went to the windows that lined the far wall of the room. Outside, one of my neighbors was teaching his son how to swing a baseball bat. I’d done the same out there with Max. I’d spent hours playing with my kids on the wrong fucking lawn.

Forgive. That’s all I had to do. I had to forgive Molly for the other man.

I closed my eyes, replaying that night in my head. I thought about her standing on the stairs to the loft, listening to Bridget run her down. She must have been devastated to see me sitting there, on the couch with another woman, not saying a thing.

I imagined her slipping down the stairs, silently retreating to her car. I bet she had fought hard not to cry because she’d been all dressed up and had her makeup done. That first shot probably went down too easy. She probably welcomed that numb feeling.

Because I’d broken her. Not just that night, but all the ones before. I’d abandoned her. I’d wrapped myself in a cocoon called work. I’d let her sit alone with a marriage counselor while I stared at the clock, knowing I was supposed to be at her side.

I’d let her down.

Me.