Epilogue
I have a confession to make: I knew you were going to be there.
You thought it was fate, that day we reconnected on Town Lake and saw the bats fly out from under the bridge. But Brett Livingston posted an Instagram Story from the lake earlier that day with you in it, so I knew you would be there. And I knew it was my chance to get you back.
I’m sure you’re worried about how I’m doing, but I’m fine.
I promise. It’s nice here (even though it used to be called the Texas State Lunatic Asylum—did you know that?), and I don’t mind it, especially since I know it’s only temporary.
I’ll be back home with you soon enough. There’s a gym so I can exercise, and the food is decent, and I get the newspaper every day so I can read about what’s happening out in the world.
It’s strange to read about myself in the paper. I don’t like seeing my face in print. I don’t like hearing their version of events, which—as I’m sure you know—is all wrong. Just like with Clara Belle, what happened with Amanda was a mistake. But you already know that. I know you believe me.
I read a story the other day that made me think of you.
You know the I-35 expansion project? Apparently, it’s displacing thousands of bats that live under the highway’s bridges.
The colony at the Congress Ave Bridge is going to be fine, thank God.
But thinking of all those other bats losing their homes made me sad.
I used to be afraid of bats, you know. You changed my mind.
You showed me that they were harmless and misunderstood—beautiful, even.
That’s one of the many things I love about you.
You see me—all of me, the good and the bad—and love me anyway.
I should have listened to you when you warned me about Meera. I should have known you could see things that I was too blind to see for myself.
She wrote me a letter. She told me your company is being investigated by the SEC.
She seemed almost glad about it, and she said you were finally going to get what was coming to you.
Completely delusional, as usual. I wish you would have told me yourself, but I understand why you didn’t.
Just remember, you can always tell me the truth.
You know that I would never hold anything against you.
I would have just told you what you already know: You’re going to get through this, like you always do. The investigation will end, the hospital will let me go, and you and I will finally begin our lives together, like we were always meant to do.
By the way, do you have an update on Grandma Birdy’s ring?
Is it still getting resized? I would love for it to be ready by the time I come home.
It would be so romantic for you to slip it on my finger when you pick me up.
And maybe, once I become Mrs. Talia Fuller, people will finally stop asking me about Amanda Reade.
She’s all anyone wants to talk about here.
She’s all I see when I close my eyes. Even when I try to dream of you, she invades my thoughts and turns my dreams into nightmares.
She won’t stop haunting me.
I don’t want you to worry about me though.
I’m going to be okay. I just wish I could hear from you.
I keep asking for your letters, but the hospital claims you’ve never written.
I don’t know why they’re lying to me, so just keep writing, like I know you are.
I’ll wear them down someday. No one can keep me from you.
I have to go now. They’ve just told me I have a visitor. I hope that it’s you.
I love you, Townsend. I’ll write to you again tomorrow.
Yours always, Talia