The weeks that followed weren't simple, but they were honest.
Emma and Lily saw each other more often—sometimes at Lily's apartment, sometimes walking aimlessly through the city. Their connection was quieter now, stripped of past tension and noise. Every laugh, every glance, felt like something new. Something earned.
But the past lingered, too. Ethan hadn't reached out since they'd parted. Emma thought about him often—not with regret, but with a quiet ache. They had built something beautiful once. Even if it hadn't lasted, it had mattered.
One rainy afternoon, Emma received a letter in the mail. The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakable.
Ethan.
She hesitated before opening it.
> Emma,
I thought about writing this a hundred times. Maybe more. There were days I hated you for leaving, and nights I hated myself more for letting you go.
But after all the hurt, I'm starting to see that maybe we weren't supposed to last. Maybe we were the bridge to something else. Something better for both of us.
I hope you find joy. Real joy. And I hope you don't settle for anything less than someone who sees you, all of you, and still chooses to stay.
Thank you for the love we had.
— Ethan
Emma reread it three times, tears slipping down her cheeks. It wasn't closure. It was something better: release.
That night, she told Lily about the letter. They sat curled up beneath a blanket, the rain tapping the windows in soft rhythms.
"Do you still love him?" Lily asked gently.
Emma thought about it. "I think I'll always love a part of him. But the part of me that was in love with him… she's gone. She grew into someone else."
Lily reached over and held her hand. "And who is she now?"
Emma smiled through the sadness. "Someone who's not afraid of the truth anymore."
They didn't kiss that night. They didn't need to.
The space between them wasn't filled with longing or fear. It was filled with possibility.
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