A week passed.
No response from Sera. Roman had not set a specific day in his mind by which a response would mean something if it had not come. He had sent the letter knowing that a response was not the point. The point was the saying. The saying of things that were true, cleanly and without conditions, to someone who deserved to know they were true. What she did with them was entirely hers.
He knew this. He had known it when he handed the envelope to the courier. He continued to know it across seven days of silence that felt, at various moments, like different things.
He did not send a follow-up. He had nothing to follow up with. The letter had said what he had to say and adding to it would have been the same mistake as not saying it clearly enough the first time, just in the other dir
