Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Instead of going back inside at her parents’ house, Chad hopped into his car without a backward glance and sped off, the tires spitting gravel.
The roar of the engine tore through the quiet suburban street, the sound lingering in Landry’s ears long after the Camaro had disappeared around the corner. She stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where Zesty Z had sat, her chest tight, her stomach a tangled knot of emotions.
Would he hate her now?
Would he ever understand?
Landry told herself that, in time, Chad would realize this was for the best. Maybe one day, he would even be grateful. But that didn’t make this moment any easier. It didn’t make the ache in her heart any less real.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of the cool night air, letting it fill her lungs and steady the racing of her pulse. She had done it.
She had finally said the words that needed to be said.
It was over, and it was only natural she would feel like she had lost something.
There was so much about Chad she liked—his steady presence, the easy way they fit into each other’s lives, the history they shared.
She would miss those parts of him. The way he always opened doors for her without thinking, the way he made her laugh when she needed it most. She wished they could have parted on better terms, wished she could have softened the blow.
But this was how it had to be.
Some things couldn’t be sugarcoated.
She inhaled sharply, blinking against the sting behind her eyes. She couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.
Because, inside her parents’ house, another battle waited.
Landry took a step forward but hesitated at the screen door. She could already hear her mother bustling around in the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes, the unmistakable scent of her father’s signature crab cakes wafting through the air.
For a fleeting moment, she wanted to turn around, get in her car and drive somewhere, anywhere, where she wouldn’t have to face her parents’ disappointment.
But the relief that had flooded her when she’d told Chad the truth was still there, still burning strong beneath all the lingering doubt.
Squaring her shoulders, Landry reached for the screen door and forced herself to walk inside as if her world hadn’t just changed forever.
“The cakes are done,” her mother called from the kitchen, her voice bright, cheerful—oblivious.
Landry barely had time to brace herself before Donna stepped into view, a look of eager anticipation lighting up her face. “How was the walk?”
Then she noticed.
Landry saw it the instant her mother registered the fact that she was alone. The expectation in Donna’s eyes dimmed like a candle snuffed out by the wind.
“Where’s Chad?”
Landry hesitated for half a beat before reaching for the simplest answer as she walked into the kitchen. “He left.”
Her mother followed, her face looking pinched with confusion. “Left?”
Trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, Landry plucked a French fry from the baking sheet her mother had pulled from the oven before walking out to greet her. Taking a bite, she wagged the rest of it in the air, forcing a cheery note into her voice. “These are good.”
Her mother barely acknowledged the compliment.
The golden-brown crab cakes sat beside them, their aroma rich and familiar, a scent tied to childhood memories and family dinners that had once felt safe and simple.
She gestured to them with the hand holding the fry. “Those look incredible.”
A heavy silence filled the space between them, broken only when her father entered the kitchen.
“There she is.” His voice was warm, but his gaze flicked past her expectantly. “I was just telling your mother—those crab cakes might just be my best yet.”
Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart, Landry smiled back. “I was just telling Mom how amazing they look.”
Her dad chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. “We had our same argument—Hellmann’s versus Duke’s—but I won. Using Duke’s guarantees they’ll taste every bit as good as they look.”
“I, for one, can’t wait to dig in.” Landry forced lightness into her voice, but the air around them had already thickened with tension.
Her father glanced around, his brow furrowing. “Where’s Chad?”
“He went home,” Donna answered before Landry could, her voice clipped. “Your daughter was just about to tell me what happened when you walked in.”
Your daughter.
Not our daughter.
It was a small thing, but Landry heard the difference. She was always his daughter when her mother was displeased with her.
Her father frowned. “Is he ill? I mean, he seemed fine earlier when he asked…” His words trailed off, and realization dawned in his eyes. “Landry?”
Apparently, he still needed to hear her say the words.
She drew in a slow breath, then let it out. “Chad and I broke up.”
The words, though steady, felt like tiny explosions in the air between them.
“Broke up?” Her father’s brows shot up. “But he asked for my permission to ask you to marry him, which I gave enthusiastically. He showed me the ring. He was so excited.”
Landry’s stomach turned.
“I brought out the champagne we got as a Christmas gift,” her mother added, the disappointment in her voice sharp. “Tonight was going to be a celebration.”
A knot twisted in Landry’s stomach. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, resisting the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry.
Dick’s eyes searched her face as if looking for some explanation that would make sense. “You turned him down?”
“I did.” Landry desperately wished they could sit and eat and move past this. But the knot in her stomach told her that even if a crab cake was set in front of her now, it wouldn’t go down easily. “I don’t love him. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
The air in the room shifted.
She could feel their disappointment, thick and suffocating, wrapping around her like invisible chains.
And yet, they didn’t ask, Are you okay?
They didn’t ask, How do you feel?
She didn’t bring up her dreams. Landry already knew what her parents thought of those pie-in-the-sky hopes. It seemed much simpler to focus on the feelings between her and Chad. That would be difficult for them to argue with.
It didn’t take her long to realize that, on that point, she was mistaken.
Her father shook his head slowly, disbelief flickering across his face. “That boy loves you, heart and soul. I saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice when he asked my permission.”
Landry fought the sharp, frustrated retort rising to her lips. She swallowed it down. “Chad may think he loves me,” she said, her voice measured, “but he actually loves the version of me that fits into his world.”
She knew the moment the words left her mouth that she had made a mistake.
Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her father’s jaw hardened.
And then, just as she had known they would, the words came.
The exact words, over and over.
How could she do this to Chad? Didn’t she realize how much he cared about her, how perfect they were together?
They talked about him.
His feelings.
His heartbreak.
Not once did they ask about hers.
Landry sat there, listening in silence, her hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t defend herself. Didn’t talk about her dreams. Didn’t tell them about the ache inside her, the one that had only grown stronger the longer she’d stayed with Chad.
Because she already knew what they thought of that.
Her mother was crying by the time Landry grabbed her purse to leave. Her father had turned stony and silent, his expression unreadable.
Neither of them tried to stop her when she walked out the door.
The night air hit her like a wave, cool and heavy with the scent of salt and summer. She let it wash over her, let the relief settle into her bones.
It was done.
Whatever the fallout, whatever came next, breaking up with Chad had been the right decision.
Hopefully, in time, Chad—and her parents—would see that, too.
Before she went to bed that night, Landry reread the letters she had received, letting the words settle deep into the places inside her that still ached. Each line, each phrase, reinforced that she had made the right decision.
She had walked away from the life she was expected to live.
And yet, why did the weight of it still press so heavily on her chest?
She needed to let the man she had come to think of as Kindred Spirit know that his words had mattered, that they had given her strength when she had needed it the most.
But more than that, she needed to feel that strength herself.
She glanced at the clock. It was late, and she had to be up early for work, but her mind refused to quiet. The emotions rolling inside her—grief, anger, relief, fear—refused to be silenced.
Sleep wouldn’t come. Not until she wrote everything down.
Sitting at her desk, she reached for a pencil and a sheet of paper, the familiar scratch of lead against the page grounding her as she let the words spill out.
This wouldn’t be the letter she would put in the letter box.
This wouldn’t even be the first draft.
This was raw. Messy. It was hers.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, blurring the words as she wrote. At first, just a few teardrops splattered onto the page, smudging a few words—but soon, the dam inside her broke completely.
She wept as she wrote, the weight of the past twenty-four hours pressing down on her.
She was sorry. Sorry she hadn’t cut things off with Chad sooner, sorry she had let it drag on for so long, pretending she could fit into the mold he had cast for her.
She was angry. Angry at her parents for not seeing her—truly seeing her—for who she was. Angry that they had taken Chad’s side without a second thought. Angry that their disappointment in her hurt more than she wanted to admit.
And she grieved.
Not just for Chad or for the expectations she had shattered, but for the version of herself she had clung to for so long. The version that had tried to fit. That had wanted to belong.
But even through the sorrow, even through the exhaustion that threatened to pull her under, something else flickered to life in her chest.
A quiet kind of joy.
It was buried beneath everything else, small but undeniable, like the first rays of morning light stretching across the sky.
Because she had done it.
She had chosen herself.
And that meant everything.
Landry pushed herself up from the desk, walked to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks, but something in her gaze was steadier than before.
Stronger.
Returning to her desk, she looked down at the tear-streaked pages in front of her, filled with crossed-out words and shaky sentences.
This wasn’t the letter she would send.
But it was the letter she’d needed to write.
And now, she could begin again.
With a deep breath, she picked up her pencil and turned to a fresh sheet of pink paper, the words forming with more clarity now.
This time, she would say exactly what she meant.
And for the first time in a long time, she would not apologize for it.
Dear Kindred Spirit,
I can’t shake the feeling that we were meant to connect, that your words found me at precisely the moment I needed them most. It feels like something beyond coincidence, as if the universe itself placed you at this crossroads with me, a guiding light in my darkest hour.
Here in GraceTown, people often speak of it as a place of unexplainable connections, of moments that seem to defy logic. Meeting you through these letters feels like one of those rare and precious moments—a mysterious gift that I will forever be grateful for.
Your last letter stayed with me, lingering in my heart as I wrestled with the choice before me.
You understand the weight of my decision in a way few can.
Letting go of the familiar, even when it’s flawed, is terrifying—like stepping into a vast, uncertain void.
And yet, your words reminded me that clinging to something that dims my light would be an even greater loss.
When I took an honest look at my relationship, I saw the truth you helped me uncover: He doesn’t truly love me.
Today, I found the courage to tell him. I ended it.
It was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had, made even harder when he revealed his plans—he intended to propose to me this evening.
He had already chosen the ring, and he had shared his intentions with my parents.
His heartbreak, and theirs, cut deeply. I could see their confusion, their disappointment and their pain.
But amid the sadness, there is something else I feel tonight—a deep, overwhelming sense of relief. A freedom I haven’t felt in years. That fierce light you spoke of—the one that had been burning so quietly within me—is now blazing. For the first time, I feel like I can truly breathe.
Thank you, Kindred Spirit, for being the voice of clarity and strength when I needed it most. Your words gave me the courage to choose myself, to stand up for my dreams and for the life I’ve always longed for.
I don’t know what lies ahead, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid.
I’m ready to embrace the unknown with open arms and a hopeful heart.
With endless gratitude and hope,
A Heart Finally Heard
Only after Landry had pulled out the pink envelope and placed the letter inside did she finally relax enough to sleep.