It’s been two weeks since I found Stella’s letter, and I’ve read it five hundred and seventy four times. That might be a slight exaggeration, but I’ve read it a lot, too many times to count.
Stella knew me, really knew me. Not too many people do, but I’m so grateful that she did. She knew that I would have a hard time moving on. She knew that I would crave her permission to let her go. I still can’t wrap my mind around the enormity of the past several years.
In the past three years, I’ve lost the love of my life. I’ve married another, only to lose her, too. I’ve broken hearts, including my own. I’ve lived with pain, regret, and too much hope for something that was never to be.
They say that everything happens for a reason. But I don’t know if I believe that anymore. In what world is los
