Chapter 34 #2
It’s hard, hearing it from his side. Harder than I expected. Just like it was when he drove me to my dad’s a few years ago to finally talk to him. To hear him out. To let him ask for forgiveness. I’m just glad I didn’t wait a decade to hear Jensen. To see him, raw and broken, but trying.
I pull out week two and read.
Dear Alley,
This one’s more hopeful. He writes about Max, and how it’s validating to talk with someone who understands.
Max isn’t a bad dude. He just lost his way. Like me. He didn’t go out there one day searching for a way to destroy his family. He just wanted to forget about some of the crazy shit he’d seen. He’s a good guy.
The letter makes me cry and smile at the same time.
Week three is longer.
Dear Alley,
God, I miss you. Every second of every day, I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you again. I’ve only been here three weeks, and it feels like an eternity without you.
I talked to Matt yesterday. He said you’re still in Chicago. He made it sound like you might be moving there… permanently.
Please don’t let that be true. I keep trying to talk myself out of it. You wouldn’t move. You love New York. Your job. Your friends. You love me. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I don’t really know what’s true anymore.
Getting clean has been so fucking hard. Reality and memories blur together. Things I don’t even remember. Moments that feel like dreams. It all gets tangled up with the truth. It’s confusing, trying to figure out what actually happened, and what’s just in my head.
But you moving to Chicago? That can’t be real, can it? Because that would mean you’re leaving me. Leaving us. And the “us” I remember is so damn good, Al. Too good to walk away from.
I know sorry isn’t enough. But I am... down to the marrow in my bones.
I wish I could go back. I wish I could erase all of it. Tell you I was hurting. Go to the doctor. Get another surgery, even. If I could go back, I’d do anything to make it different. I would’ve never touched that first pill.
I was desperate, babe. I was in so much pain. I tried to power through. I was so worried about you being married to a cripple in ten years, I never stopped to think I could become an addict.
It’s not who I am. It’s something that happened to me. I picked the pill. But the addiction picked me. I didn’t go looking for this. But it found me anyway.
And I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting what it did to you.
I’m working the steps. Taking it seriously this time.
Step Four is this week: Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself.
It scares the shit out of me. To really look at myself.
To look at the harm I’ve caused. But maybe something good will come out of it.
Maybe I’ll start to understand why I am the way I am.
I’ve always struggled with AA. The whole “higher power” thing never clicked for me. But here they frame it differently, and it’s easier to connect. I’ve been reading a lot of books on stoicism. The teachings make sense to me, so I’m clinging to them. It helps.
I guess I’ll let you know how it all goes next week.
Love,
Jensen
I close my eyes, chest aching. This was denial wrapped in desperation, but also the first glimpse of Jensen staring hard truths in the face.
Week four felt much the same—hopeful, healing, but still clinging to the fantasy that I’d be waiting for him in New York.
And then I open week five. The tone shifts. It’s like something cracked open in him, and things begin to move forward.
Babe. I get it now. I finally get it. Today in group we had to name a deal breaker in love. I said cheating. Then they told us to close our eyes and imagine the person we trust most doing it—over and over, lying about it every time.
And then I pictured you waiting for me at home, and me not showing up. Jesus, Al, it broke me in a new way. For the first time, I understood what I put you through. I was supposed to be your safe place. And I lied. I let you down. I hurt you.
I set the letter down and close my eyes. God, empathy. Finally.
But then I get to week six. It’s crumpled, and I smooth it out best I can before reading.
Yesterday was the first time I’ve been clean and thought—I’d rather be dead.
That thought came right after Tobias and Nina told me you’d filed for divorce.
I sniff, wiping at my nose. It kills me to go back here… to when I filed.
Just when I started to believe in something again, you gave up on me.
It feels like I was halfway up the fucking mountain, finally breathing, and you shoved me off the edge.
I’m mad at you, Alley. God, I’m so fucking mad at you.
A sob rips from me. Full-on ugly crying now. This must be the one he almost tossed. His anger slices, and I let it. I don’t excuse it. I don’t swallow it whole. I just hold it long enough to see his pain. But I still see me.
By the time I finish I can hardly breathe.
I love you more than this life. More than fucking air.
More than myself.
Love,
Jensen
I press the letter to my chest, shaking.
My sobs eventually fade, and when I finally reach for week seven, I brace myself.
It’s short. Numb. Like after he learned about the divorce, he just gave up on us. It’s almost like he didn’t even want to write me.
Then week eight shifts. A clarity I haven’t seen yet.
He writes about a session with Nina and a book he read that unlocked something—stoicism, acceptance.
Suddenly he isn’t in denial. He isn’t begging or grasping for a way to fix it.
It’s like he looked in the mirror, saw the wreckage he caused, and accepted it.
I’m not glad this happened. I could never say that because there were far too many casualties.
Yours being the worst. But it’s hard to say I’d do it different, because I’m grateful for what I’m learning.
What’s done is done. I may never be forgiven, but I can live with that because I can finally live with me.
By week nine, confidence creeps back in. Like he’s learning to stand again. Determined to be whole—to be great—with or without me.
I know I can be happy now no matter what happens. It’d just be a hell of a lot better if I got to share that with you.
My heart lifts with pride, but fear sneaks in too, along with a little envy.
Because if he can be happy without me, does he even need me?
And why can’t I have that same confidence—knowing I could be happy without him?
Every time I’ve imagined a life without Jensen, I can’t picture myself being happy.
Maybe eventually I could be, but the difference between now and a few months ago is drastic.
I was in the pits of despair, and now? Regardless of the fear that still lingers, I’m happy… because of Jensen.
But is that a good thing? It is, and it isn’t.
Maybe it’s time I do the same kind of work he’s done.
For me. It’s not about measuring up to him.
It’s about finding my own footing. Jensen did.
He learned to stand on his own again. Maybe that’s the key to all this.
Maybe that’s how we’ll finally stand a chance together.
I continue. Week ten has me melting.
Last night I had a dream about you. A sex dream.
You climbed into my bed, naked, pressing your ass into me like you couldn’t get close enough. You’re so damn sexy, Al. I woke up aching for you. Yeah, I was horny, but mostly just missing us and the way we connected. That part of me that was lost for a while, it’s back now. I feel like me again.
Hot. Honest. Pure Jensen.
Week eleven seals everything up and ties it into a bow.
I’m not done. I’m just steadier. Matt says he hears it in my voice.
I set the letters down and stare at the wall, drained, trying to process. My nose is raw and stuffy, my face blotchy, my thoughts racing. I stumble to the bathroom, splash cold water over my cheeks, and blow my nose.
I climb back into bed, the letters still scattered across the sheets. I pick one up, thumb brushing the ink, lean back against the headboard, and start reading again. His words bleed into me—grief, confusion, clarity, all swirling together.
The way this man holds my entire heart in the palm of his hand… I read it over and over, until nothing has ever been clearer. I see his work. I see mine waiting ahead. I know what I have to do.
I can’t snap my fingers and erase the past. I can’t pretend trust magically reappears overnight. But I can choose. I can either move forward doubting everything, living in fear—or I can let go, trust my husband, and see him for the man he is now and the man he’s becoming.
I choose him.
And through all of it, one truth hits sharper than anything else.
I fucking love him.