IZABEL
I held the crumpled and tear-soaked letter in my hand, looking at my chewed fingernails
and bleeding cuticles, wishing I’d been brave enough to reach out to Monica first.
Time has not healed what happened between him and me.
I sat with covers pulled around me in the middle of my unmade bed and ran a hand
over my swollen belly. “It hasn’t healed what happened between him and me either.
Has it, baby?”
I read Monica’s letter at least a dozen times. The first time through, I cried tears
of relief and reached for the phone to call my sister. Then I read it again: You
took a jackhammer and shattered our world into jagged pieces. You did all this. Monica’s
words mirrored the shame I’d felt for the past months. The words screamed in my head.
I turned away from the phone, wadded u
