Thoren
She asked for them.
The words I never meant for her to see. The pieces of me I buried in ink, never daring to send. She asked.
And I couldn’t say no.
Not when she looked at me like that—torn open and stitched together all at once, like she was trying to decide whether to run toward me or slam the door in my face. And for once, I wasn’t afraid of either.
I was just… relieved she didn’t let me walk away.
I went straight to my office, moving on instinct more than thought. If I paused too long, I’d start doubting myself again. Wondering if giving her these letters was a mistake. If it would hurt more than help.
But she deserved the truth. Every word of it.
The drawer stuck for a second. I yanked it harder and pulled out the black leather journal—the one I’d started the day after
