28 Letters to the CEO: A Love Remembered

6 a.m. The birds were louder than usual, their songs piercing the quiet of my apartment. I closed my eyes and let the memories of Josh flood in—sweet, painful, unavoidable. I walked to the window and drew back the brown curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room, painting the walls with gold. I took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill my lungs, and for a moment, I could almost feel him beside me. Those five years… they seemed both yesterday and a lifetime ago. I whispered to myself, “Those days…” and smiled, a bittersweet curve of lips. The memories of his hands brushing my hair, the way he used to tease me, the late-night laughter—they were all here, trapped in my mind, alive as ever. By 8:30, my alarm rang, shaking me back into the present. I rushed through my workout, then into the shower. The warm water mingled with the floral scent of my magnolia body wash and shampoo, and the aroma filled the room, reminding me of the way he used to hold me close while I washed my hair. Sitting in front of the mirror, I patted my damp hair dry and applied scented oils, remembering how he used to do it for me. “I miss those mornings,” I murmured, staring at my reflection. I dressed in a floral dress, tied my hair into a messy bun, and headed to the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the air as I sat at the table, notebook open, ready to plan my day. But my eyes caught the old oak tree in the backyard—the one Josh had planted years ago. I didn’t write my plans. Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote two simple words that carried the weight of a thousand memories: “DAY 1.” The ink was barely dry when I paused, staring out the window. So much had happened, and yet, at that moment, it all felt like it could start again. Could it? I didn’t know. But I was willing to try.