Chapter 16
Kaden
The small splatter stain on the carpet in Dr. Carroll’s therapy room stands out against the beige fibres like a crime scene—too dark, too vivid, its colour reminiscent of dried blood.
I catch myself staring at it longer than I should, wondering what the substance might be.
Spilt wine? Food stain? Nail polish? Actual blood?
I can’t remember whether it was there the last time I was here.
“Kaden?”
My gaze flicks to Dr. Carroll, seated in her usual chair with her legs crossed and a notepad resting in her lap.
Today she’s dressed in grey suit pants, a black turtleneck thermal top, and leather two-inch heels, an understated and professional look that suits her perfectly. Her expression is soft, patient. Waiting. How long have I been zoned out for?
“Sorry, what was your question again?”
“You mentioned that you told the wife of your ex-girlfriend’s affair partner about her husband’s infidelity. What motivated you to do that?” she asks.
A slow, heavy breath leaves me. “Because I was angry. Angry that Adrian had hurt so many people and walked away without facing any consequences. Angry that he got my ex-girlfriend pregnant and then ran like a coward the moment he found out about the baby. And most of all, I’m angry that he kept lying and betraying his family long after the affair ended. ”
“And that’s something you couldn’t accept?”
“Of course not! He didn’t just ruin my relationship and any hope I had for a family—he turned his own into a complete mockery. His wife deserved the truth. And he was certainly not going to give it to her.”
Dr. Carroll nods slightly. “So that’s when you decided to tell her instead?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “And I don’t regret it, because now she knows everything. I do feel guilty for not reaching out afterwards to see if she was okay, but I got the impression she didn’t want to hear from me anymore. I mean I did just walk into her life and set fire to everything.”
“Do you feel responsible in some way for what happens next in their lives?”
“I do,” I reply wearily, running a hand through my hair.
“I meddled in something I probably shouldn’t have, and now it can’t be undone.
Even if I had brought the truth to Hope, I might have torn her family apart.
And I guess I feel responsible for that.
But I don’t regret telling her. She would’ve gone on building her life on a lie, one Adrian benefited from.
I’ve lived as both the betrayer and the betrayed, and I know just how devastating and painful that can be for anyone. ”
Silence hangs in the air as Dr. Carroll quickly scribbles something down.
“Part of me wanted her husband to pay for what he’d done,” I continue, the confession sitting heavy in my chest. “I wanted him to lose everything he valued, the way everyone else lost something because of him. So in a way, I was acting for my own benefit as well as hers, when it should’ve been solely about helping her. ”
She nods empathetically. “It’s possible to act without a single, pure motivation.
You can want justice for someone else and still have personal needs mixed up with it.
That doesn’t automatically make it wrong.
Both motivations can coexist, and acknowledging them doesn’t invalidate either.
What matters is that you’re taking responsibility for the impact it might’ve caused. ”
“Yeah.” I nod, reluctantly.
“It’s important to remember,” she says calmly, “that by bringing the truth to Adrian’s wife, you didn’t end their marriage or destroy their family. You interrupted, and possibly prevented a deception that might have continued on for years. What happens next belongs to them entirely.”
I sink back into the couch, staring at the ceiling fan. The blades aren’t moving, but the room still feels cold and stale.
“I still feel awful for what she’s going through,” I admit, sadly.
“Of course you do,” Dr. Carroll says. “You’re not numb anymore.”
For the first time, I have nothing to say to that.
“We have about five minutes left in our session. I just wanted to check—how’s the letter coming along?”
“It’s… coming,” I murmur, staring at my hands, my voice tight. “I just need to put pen to paper first.”
“What do you think is holding you back from starting the letter?”
“Not knowing where to begin. I feel like no matter what I write, it won’t make up for what I’ve done. And I’m afraid it will hit me all at once—the guilt, anger, regret, grief… which is only going to make me feel worse.”
“I can see how it can be overwhelming for you. But it’s okay for those emotions to be there.
They’re part of the healing process. You don’t have to get it ‘right’ on the first try.
It’s not for anyone else to judge,” she says encouragingly.
“The letter is not intended to change the past or fix everything that occurred. It’s about processing your feelings, taking responsibility for the choices you made, and being honest with yourself, even if it’s uncomfortable.
“I get that. I really do. But every time I sit down to write, it never comes out the way I want. I just want it to be perfect.”
“The words don’t have to be perfect, Kaden.
They just have to be honest. So it’s completely fine if it’s a little messy and chaotic.
You can start in small pieces and revise later, as many times as you need to.
You’ll find that each time you write, the ache eases a little, and you feel lighter.
The key is giving yourself permission to begin. ”
I exhale slowly, the air feeling thick and heavy in my lungs. “I still don’t feel ready… but maybe I could start with just a few sentences, and see where it goes from there, right?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right, Kaden. Once you put pen to paper, the rest tends to follow.”
As I head towards my car after my session with Dr. Carroll, my phone instantly vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans. When I see Jason’s name flashing across my screen, I smile.
“Jase! What’s up, my brother?”
“You busy?”
“I just left my therapist’s office. Why? What’s going on?”
“Not much. I just thought I’d call and check in on you, but I can see you were in good hands already.”
I chuckle softly. “Yeah, I’d like to think so too. Surprisingly, therapy’s been going well. The progress is slow, and I know there’s still a lot of work to be done, but I’m proud of the changes I’ve made so far. I’ve been ten weeks sober as of today.”
“I’m so fucking proud of you, man. I know you might not see it yet, but I genuinely believe things are going to get better for you. You quit drinking cold turkey, you’ve been consistent with therapy, and you’ve found your passion again. You inspire me more each day, my friend.”
“Thanks, Jase. Hearing that from you means a lot. Though, I haven’t managed to complete every task. There’s one in particular that I just can’t seem to tackle anytime soon.”
“What is it?”
“Remember the letter I’m supposed to write Skylar?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’s a lot harder than I initially thought.”
“Don’t overthink it. Just write whatever you’re feeling and thinking, and let the words flow. Even if the sentences come out a little cluttered, at least they’re honest and come from the heart.”
I fidget with the keys in my free hand, watching cars come and go in the carpark.
“Dr. Carroll said something similar. She said it doesn’t have to be perfect, just honest. I guess I need to stop procrastinating and just do it.”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” he says, pausing briefly. “Um… while we’re on the topic of Skylar, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. But... um... I don’t know how to say this.”
“It’s okay, Jase. I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.”
“Mila and I received Skylar’s wedding invitation a few days ago.”
My fingers tighten around my phone at his words. “When’s the wedding?” I ask, swallowing the lump that’s formed in my throat.
“November twenty-fourth...of this year.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s like three months away!”
“Yeah, it is. Mila said it was Heath’s idea. He apparently couldn’t wait to marry her. And it looks like it’s going to be fairly big wedding.”
The sharp, stabbing ache in my chest—the same one that hit me the first time I learned of their engagement, returns, only this time far more intense.
My therapist would probably say it’s okay to feel this way, that it’s all part of the healing process, but I don’t see how that’s possible when my heart is shattering into a million pieces.
I can’t even be angry at Heath, because the truth is, he loves and respects Skylar in ways I failed to. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be a far better husband to her than I ever was.
While it hurts to know my ex-wife has moved on faster than I can catch my next breath, her happiness is what truly matters, and that’s the only thing worth focusing on through all of this.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift into the sounds around me, an exercise my therapist has me practicing whenever strong emotions hit. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t, but today, right now, it does.
“You okay over there?” Jason asks, worry coursing through his voice.
“I’m not a hundred percent, but I will be.”
“If you ever need to get out and talk, you know you can always call me. We could head to the mountains for a hike, if you’d like—we haven’t done that in a while.”
“I’d love to, but I’m hoping to finish my home office this weekend. But I’ll let you know when I’m free next.”
“Sounds good, mate.”
We talk for another ten minutes, catching up on the things we’ve missed and exchanging updates on his ex-wife’s court case, which has been delayed once again after new information and witnesses came to light.
I can tell it’s weighing heavily on my best friend, and he wishes it would all just come to an end, but unfortunately, life rarely works that way.
Even so, I’m glad it hasn’t affected his relationship with Mila. If anything, it’s only strengthened the connection between them.
I drive straight home after the phone call and fall into my usual evening routine—dinner, shower, and TV. But even as I try to focus on the crime show playing on the screen, my thoughts keep wandering back to Skylar and Heath’s wedding in just a few months.
It’s hard not to picture the gown she’ll wear, the smile on her face as she walks down the aisle, or their first kiss as husband and wife—without it hurting deeply.
Will it be bigger and better? Drama-free? Will she look happier than she did on our wedding day?
I guess I’ll never know.
Suddenly, all the feelings I’ve held on to over the past year and a half come rushing back. They crash over me like a tidal wave, powerful and intense.
But instead of craving a drink, instead of cracking open a beer, I grab a pen and notepad from the kitchen drawer and sink into the dining chair.
Within minutes, my hand moves across the page, scribbling word after word, sentence after sentence, as if it has a mind of its own.
Two hours later, my hand, and neck aching like they’re riddled with arthritis, I finally set the pen down and turn the paper back to the beginning.
The first page glares up at me—messy, chaotic, words crossed out and rewritten, a tangle of my thoughts made visible on paper.
I take a slow, steadying breath, stretching the tension out from my right hand and neck. Once it eases even just a fraction, I glance back at the notepad and begin reading from the top.
Dearest Skylar...