Chapter 006

She padded to the door barefoot, hesitating for a brief second before twisting the knob. The morning sun spilled across the doorstep, casting long, lazy shadows across the porch tiles. But there was no one there.

Only an envelope.

It sat right in the center of the welcome mat, neatly placed, its edges pristine. No name of a sender, no smudges or scribbles—just her full name typed in clean, centered font.

Her stomach did a slow roll.

She glanced around—up the street, to the hedges, even toward the neighbor's house—before she leaned down and picked it up. It was surprisingly weightless. She shut the door behind her and stood in the hallway for a beat, as if expecting someone to knock again and announce it had all been a mistake.

But the house stayed quiet.

Back in the kitchen, the envelope remained unopened on the counter as she rinsed out her mug. She wasn't sure why her fingers were trembling. It wasn't from Daniel—there was nothing about the envelope that hinted at him. And yet, the unease settled beneath her skin all the same.

Finally, she peeled the flap open and pulled out a thick, folded paper.

Dr. Lila Voss, Licensed Therapist

The words were embossed at the top.

Dear Elena,

I hope this letter finds you well. A close friend of yours reached out to me, expressing concern for your emotional well-being. She said you may be going through a difficult time, and that you've been holding a lot in.

Please know that this letter comes from a place of care, not judgment. I'd be honored to offer you a confidential, no-pressure space to speak—whenever and if ever you feel ready. My door is open.

Warmest regards,

Dr. Lila Voss

Elena felt heat rise to her face—an odd blend of shame, defensiveness, and betrayal.

Mara.

It had to be.

The wording was soft, too gentle, which somehow made it worse. She clenched the paper briefly in her hand before flattening it back out, smoothing away the crease she'd left.

So she thinks I need therapy? Elena thought bitterly. She thinks I'm that messed up?

But even as she tried to be angry, the truth sat quietly beside her: she wasn't okay. She hadn't been for a while. The dreams, the thoughts of Daniel, the shame after—how she snapped at Nathan sometimes, even when he was trying—none of it felt like her.

She folded the letter back up and slipped it into the drawer beside the fridge. Out of sight. Gone, for now.

She arrived late to work, her head pounding slightly. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard as she stared at her inbox, but her eyes glazed over the subject lines. She couldn't seem to focus, and her heartbeat still felt uneven from earlier.

"Elena," Claudia called from across the office. "You have that pitch brief from yesterday?"

Elena blinked. "Yeah… almost done. Just putting finishing touches."

Claudia nodded but didn't look convinced. "Try not to cut it too close. Presentation's at two."

As Claudia walked away, Elena leaned back in her chair and exhaled deeply. Her gaze drifted to her phone vibrating silently on the desk.

Mara: "Hey love. Just wanted to make sure the letter got to you. No pressure. Just love."

Elena stared at the message, her thumbs hovering over the screen. For a second, she typed:

"You shouldn't have done that."

But she erased it.

Then typed:

"I'm fine, Mara. Seriously."

She erased that, too.

In the end, she said nothing. She slipped the phone back into her drawer, the silence buzzing louder than the open-plan office ever could.

By lunch, her head was spinning. She stood in the kitchenette, staring blankly at the water dispenser, trying to remember what she came in for.

Mike from HR passed by. "Everything good, Elena?"

She jolted slightly. "Yeah. Just… tired."

"Long week already, huh?" he chuckled. "Hang in there."

She offered a strained smile, nodding, but her insides churned.

At her desk, she tried to immerse herself in her work. It didn't stick. Her mind kept replaying Mara's words from the bar last night:

"I love Richard so much. He just gets me."

And the thought that had followed in Elena's head uninvited:

Did she mean in bed?

Then Daniel's voice from her memories crept in—low, possessive, magnetic.

She shook her head. Tried to drown it all out with Spotify and spreadsheets, but the silence in her own head was louder than anything.

By the end of the day, she felt drained—not just physically, but hollowed out emotionally. As she climbed into her car, the day's tension gripped her neck and shoulders like a vice. She sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

She wanted to scream. Cry. Drive somewhere far.

Instead, she drove home.

The house was dim, quiet. Nathan was still out. Elena dropped her bag by the door and stood in the middle of the living room like she'd forgotten what she came in for.

She walked into the kitchen, the drawer practically calling her name.

She opened it and pulled out the letter.

Read it again.

This time slower.

Every line felt too gentle. Too kind. Too undeserved. It was like the words knew her—knew where she was fragile, where she bled invisibly.

She wanted to tear it in half. She wanted to call Mara and scream.

But instead, she folded it neatly again and—against every instinct—tucked it into the back of her journal, between two blank pages.

Not gone. Not forgotten.

Just… postponed.

That night, Nathan found her in bed, already curled beneath the duvet.

"Rough day?" he asked, climbing in beside her.

She nodded. "Something like that."

"You want to talk about it?"

She hesitated. Her chest burned with the weight of unspoken words.

"Not tonight," she said softly. "I'm just tired."

He leaned over and kissed her temple. "Okay. I'm here, though. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," she whispered, not looking at him. "I know."

And maybe that was the hardest part—he was there. Kind, steady, consistent. But none of that had stopped her from craving what she knew had once broken her.