Chapter 40
CADE
Imade it home from the call-out around one a.m., exhausted and in desperate need of a shower and some dry clothes.
We’d found the missing boy—thank God. My job was sometimes brutal, but days like this—outcomes like this—made it infinitely worth it, and I felt like I was part of something greater in the world.
I knew I’d spend weeks savoring the high of seeing that little boy back in his mother’s arms.
As Echo and I approached my door I saw a rectangular white envelope taped to it, just my name written on top in familiar loopy handwriting. After I unlocked the door, I tore it open. Inside, I found a long typed letter. Exhaustion momentarily forgotten, I began to read.
Dear Cade,
I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I do owe you an extremely long-overdue apology, and an explanation for some of the things I never confided in you. That means I have to dig into the past, just a little.
One thing I never told you was why Brock and I broke up. After the last reunion, Brock and I moved in together, for about a month.
The way he lived was so detail-oriented. I felt like I was walking on eggshells every time I left a box of cereal out on the counter or left my shoes in the “wrong” place. I was constantly trying to appease him.
His moods started changing, and he started getting angry. When I was laying around the house in my sweats on my days off, he called me things—like “lazy” and “dull.” It chipped away at my self-esteem, and at some point, I started to believe it.
I realized eventually that what I originally saw as Brock taking care of me was actually him controlling me. In small ways, at first. Always going to places in his car, spending the night in his apartment, eating where he chose.
When I moved in, those instances increased. Wearing what he suggested, putting things away where he wanted them. His way was right—my way wasn’t valid.
I think in a way he liked that he was so much older, and that I didn’t really have any family or my parents around.
He never encouraged me to reconnect with my mom.
He never tried to get close with Whit, or ask me about Owen—it was like all of those people, my closest relationships, only fit outside of my relationship with him.
I feel like it was subtle enough that I didn’t see it while I was in it—or maybe I was just young and naive. But once I was out of the situation, I realized how claustrophobic it had made me. I knew I never wanted to go back.
Then, I found out I was pregnant. I don’t know how—we were always careful. I’d consistently been on the pill. The doctors think my RA medication was interfering with my birth control pills, so they advised me to go off them and to use an alternate method in the future.
Brock was not happy about the news. He called the pregnancy a “wake-up call.” He said living with me was incompatible with the lifestyle he’d envisioned. He said our marriage was doomed to fail, and a baby wouldn’t fix that. He wanted out.
So I moved back in with Whit. She was about a month further along than I was. We had it all planned out—we were going to be broke single moms together, rocking life against all odds. Our babies would grow up together and be best friends. I could picture that life.
I got your letter that fall, but I just couldn’t write you back—I didn’t know how to tell you any of it. Everything had become so much more complicated, and I needed to sort it all out before I could let myself get to know you again.
Then things got worse. I lost the baby. I miscarried, at eleven weeks. It wrecked me, Cade. The newfound joy I’d embraced during the broken end of my relationship was suddenly just . . . gone.
I didn’t know how to cope. I couldn’t function at work. The hospital made me take leave. By that November, I couldn’t get out of bed. I just cried, all the time. My world was complete darkness.
That’s when Whit called you and you came and brought me to Vermont. That week, I finally started to see a tiny sliver of hope for the future. I wish I could’ve told you all this then, but the wounds were too fresh. I was selfish, and I just wanted to cling to the life buoy that was you.
Even the next March, I was still struggling.
I couldn’t even stay at the hospital with Whit when she had Ivy .
. . for my best friend. I couldn’t do it.
I was there when she was in labor, but I didn’t stay with her overnight.
And I regret it every day. She needed me, and I turned away.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that, but it’s one of the many things I’m working through in counseling.
I tried to atone by joining the NICU and helping all the innocent babies and struggling mothers that I could.
But you see, I can’t go through something like that again.
And watching Whit do it alone . . . that’ll never be me.
I’m not strong like she is. That time we were together, before Ivy’s birthday—my body just went into flight mode.
Even though I knew you weren’t Brock, I felt like I was repeating my mistakes all over again.
I don’t expect you to understand, or even to forgive me.
I just need you to know why I reacted the way I did.
Why I was so terrified. Why I pulled away from you.
I started going to my counselor again regularly after that. I realized I was still holding on to a lot of trauma, and I wasn’t fully working through it. Being with you was healing parts of me. But there were some parts I still needed to heal myself.
My counselor suggested that I write it all down in a letter. She’s been working with me for quite a while now. She knows sometimes I struggle to communicate how I feel. She thought writing it this way might allow me to finally get out all the words I’ve been holding back.
Cade, one of my biggest regrets is that I ended up hurting you in the process of dealing with my pain.
None of what I’m telling you is meant to excuse the pain I caused you.
I want you to know that I am very, very sorry for the way I hurt you.
You are everything beautiful and light in the world, and I wish at the time I had been able to find my way out of my own darkness and appreciate what was right in front of me.
I love you, Cade Adler. I loved you when we were ten years old. I loved you when we slow danced at the prom, and when you kissed me after graduation. I loved you every moment we were together and every moment we were apart.
You are amazing. And you deserved more than the pieces of my broken heart.
Yours Always,
Brooke
My heart felt like it was tumbling out of my chest. So many things had happened that I hadn’t known. I still remembered the pain I’d felt when she shut me out, but—now at least I had a context for why.
I felt a huge jumble of emotions hit my chest. I wanted to scream at the universe for causing Brooke so much pain.
I wanted to punch Brock in the face for abandoning her in a vulnerable and unexpected situation.
I wanted to shake Brooke’s shoulders for not letting me in.
I wanted to—God, I needed to—hug her again.
Feel her warm and soft against me. It was 1:30 in the morning, but I had told her I’d call her when I was back.
I checked my phone and found a voicemail from Nic. I clicked to listen to it.
“Hey, Cade, it’s Nic. I—know you’re busy with work, and I don’t know when you’ll get this.
Don’t worry, okay? I don’t even know if I should be calling you with this, but I saw you and Brooke hanging out at the reunion, and yeah, I thought you might want to know.
Brooke fell—at the reunion. She passed out, and I guess she hit her head and messed up her arm.
She’s at the hospital—at Mercy. Room 308. ”
I looked down at Echo, who had already curled up on his bed. He looked about as worn out as I felt.
“You rest, bud. You were great tonight. I’ve gotta go,” I told him.
I grabbed a cold soda from the fridge, locked up the house, and climbed in the car.