Chapter 2 – “The letter”
827 Words
Ashlyn Voss’ POV ( one week later)
Grief clings differently after the seventh day. It doesn’t wail anymore. It just... watches you, quietly—like a ghost on the ceiling.
I was sitting on the edge of Asher’s bed, knees pulled to my chest, in a room that still smelled like his cologne and dusted dreams. My bones were tired, my eyes heavier than ever, but I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe like a normal human.
The walls around me weren’t strangers; I had memorized every shade of paint that peeled on that corner wall, every scratch on the wooden desk where Asher would scribble something and never let me see it. I was falling apart in a place that once held me together.
And then the door creaked.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to.
Selena Blackwood—his mother. The woman whose smile never quite reached her eyes when I was around. She stepped inside like a shadow, cold and bitter. Her perfume had the sting of old roses and richer wine.
She sat beside me, but the distance between us could’ve filled a galaxy. I still didn’t say anything. Grief had locked my throat from inside out.
Then her voice—whispered but sharp enough to cut glass.
“I am not here to support you in your pain or something. I already knew you were a curse, the kind that would eventually destroy my family. Now just get lost.”
I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t cry.
I already knew.
Somewhere deep inside, I always knew they never saw me as a part of him. Just a storm hovering near his sky.
But this… this was the final seal.
My bag had been packed since the night of his funeral. Not because I wanted to leave, but because I knew they’d never let me grieve in peace.
I stood up.
Dragged the luggage across the wooden floor that once heard our midnight laughs and sleepy footsteps.
The tears—those traitors—didn’t show up this time.
Rage did.
Not the loud kind.
But the one that simmers under your skin. The one that sharpens your spine and hardens your heart.
I didn’t say a word to her.
Because she wouldn’t hear it.
Because Asher wasn't there to defend me anymore.
And maybe… maybe because I didn’t need anyone to witness my exit.
As I stepped out of the Blackwood mansion, I didn’t feel like I was leaving a home.
I felt like I am leaving something that was never mine.
(after leaving the Blackwood mansion, in my home)
The night was painfully silent.
The kind of silence that doesn’t comfort—it suffocates.
I hadn’t turned on the lights.
I didn’t need to. I wasn’t scared of the dark anymore.
I was scared of everything I used to call mine.
The clock struck 12:47 AM when I heard it.
A soft rustle.
A whisper of movement near the window.
I turned sharply.
A plain, unmarked envelope lay on the floor—slid in through the slight gap I had left open.
No name.
No scent.
Just paper.
But as I picked it up—
Warmth.
Not from the room. Not from my skin.
But from the letter itself.
A strange, aching warmth that gripped my chest in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
I opened it slowly. Carefully.
And read.
---
Ashlyn,
I never wanted you to get these letters.
If you’re reading this… it means I’m gone.
And that thought tears through me more than anything else ever could.
I don’t know what your days look like now.
I don’t know who holds you when the weight gets too much.
But I hope someone does.
Because you deserve soft things.
You deserve a love that remembers every corner of you—
the way you laugh in your sleep,
the way your hands flinch before they reach out,
and the way your eyes fight to trust again.
I’m not sure if I ever earned your heart fully.
Maybe I didn’t.
But I felt it.
In those quiet moments.
In the way you said my name when the world wasn’t watching.
I hope you remember that version of me—the one who looked at you like the world wasn’t broken yet.
And if the days ever feel too heavy…
just know,
I loved you in silence, in storms, and in every breath I couldn’t take beside you.
— Asher Blackwood
---
I stared at the paper.
No tears came.
Just… stillness.
Like something inside me had finally exhaled after years of being held hostage.
It felt like him.
But somehow... it didn’t.
This letter didn’t sound like the man I had been married to for the past two years.
It sounded like… someone else.
Someone who had known me before I broke.
Before everything changed.
I didn’t know who.
But my heart did.
It just wasn’t ready to remember yet.
- Writer
