Chapter 8 - The Rebuilding
While Tyler was breaking down and rebuilding in rehab, I was doing the same in my own life.
The house felt massive, but it no longer felt haunted. I started painting again—a hobby I had abandoned twenty years ago. I joined a local hiking group. I reconnected with old friends I had isolated myself from out of embarrassment over Tyler's behavior.
I slept through the night. I didn't jump when a door slammed. I didn't hide my purse in my own bedroom.
I was thriving.
May you like
One crisp autumn afternoon, almost a year after the morning I had cooked that final breakfast, I went to the mailbox. Inside was a plain white envelope. The handwriting was Tyler’s, but it was neater, more careful.
I took it into the kitchen, sat at the table, and opened it.
