By chance, I discovered it.
We had just finished a lengthy, tumultuous Sunday lunch at my parents’ house, one of those get-togethers where everyone shouts over one another and someone inevitably breaks down in tears of joy. I noticed it while I was clearing the table: a clean white sheet nestled next to the napkins with the owl print, beneath the corner of a placemat.
I initially believed it to be a grocery list or a haphazard to-do list. However, my heart truly skipped a beat as I lifted it up.
“I cherish you. Being able to see oneself through my eyes would be the one gift I could give you. It was lovely. Uncooked. Like anything from a romantic comedy. For a moment, I swear, I felt like I was radiating light from within.
I hoped Adrian would send it. Adrian had to be the one.
Due to hectic schedules, irritable tempers, and missed dinners, we had been having difficulties lately. This letter? It seemed to indicate that he was still aware of me. that I was still adored by him.
But then I became aware of it. faint, nearly undetectable unless the page was tilted precisely. gently pressed into the surface by whatever was written on top of it.
“To Marissa.”
Marissa is not me. I haven’t been.
Everything began to fit together in my mind like dominoes the moment I saw it, including the late hours at work, the circumspect texts, and Adrian’s recent additional caution with his phone.
My hands were shaking as I stood there holding the letter. It wasn’t until Adrian was directly behind me that I heard him return inside. Softly and without warning, he said, “What’s that you’re holding?”
I pivoted. And I didn’t recognize the man staring at me for the first time.
When Adrian saw what I was holding, he froze. We both remained silent for a moment. The weight of everything unsaid seemed to be weighed down by the heavy air between us. He finally parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out.
“Who is Marissa?” Holding up the letter so he couldn’t act like it wasn’t real, I questioned bluntly.
He raked a hand through his hair and let out a long groan. “It’s… complex.”
“Difficult?” I spoke louder than I meant to, and my voice cracked. “You addressed this lovely letter to a woman named Marissa. You’re telling me it’s “complicated” now?
Adrian averted his gaze, his face etched with remorse. “Look, how about we take a seat for a moment? Let me clarify.
Even though each step felt heavier than the last, I reluctantly followed him into the living room. There was an unseen gap between us as we sat on opposite ends of the couch. Before he spoke, he seemed to build courage by looking at the floor.
Adrian nervously said, “Marissa is… well, she’s an old friend from college.” After years of drifting apart, we finally got back in touch. She contacted me because I wanted to support her through some difficult times.
So instead, you choose to write her love letters? I retaliated with a tone that could have broken glass.
“No!” Adrian’s hands went up in defense. That wasn’t the case. She talked about how difficult things were for her, and I hoped that writing something supportive would cheer her up. That’s all.
I pointed out angrily, “And yet you signed it with ‘I love you.'”
He drooped his shoulders. “All right, so perhaps I missed that part. However, it doesn’t signify what you believe it to. Nothing more than a buddy, she is important to me.
I genuinely did want to believe him, but this whole thing screamed betrayal. What prevented you from telling me about her, then? Why have you been working late, hiding your phone, and sneaking around?
“I didn’t sneak!” Adrian objected, but his tone was unconvinced. Recently, I’ve been under a lot of stress, so talking to Marissa helped me relax. It didn’t seem like a huge deal to me.
“A huge deal?” With incredulity, I repeated. “While our relationship has been deteriorating, you wrote a heartfelt letter to another woman!”
The only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall clock. Adrian appeared completely devastated as he buried his face in his hands. I was conflicted; while I wanted to lash out further, I also wondered if there was more to this story than first appeared.
Adrian spoke again after a few anxious moments, although his voice was hardly audible above a whisper. “You’re correct. I made a mistake. I allowed things get to the point where you started to mistrust my sentiments, not because I deceived you romantically. I ought to have been truthful right away.
Startled by his revelation, I blinked. “So… You’re claiming that, except from maintaining secrets, you haven’t done anything wrong?
He said solemnly, “I wish I could say that.” In actuality, though, I have also experienced unhappiness. I’ve been aloof—not just from you, but from myself as well—because work has been too much. Speaking with Marissa brought back memories of my former self before life became so smothering.
His remarks were like a kick to the stomach. Was there any chance Adrian hadn’t tried to harm me on purpose? Is this entire catastrophe the result of two people attempting—and failing—to deal with their problems?
His revelation reminded me of myself, as much as I hated to admit it. I had ignored our relationship in favor of working nonstop for the past few months. Perhaps, just possibly, we had both had a part in this collapse.
I spoke with my best friend Sofia over the phone the following day. I eagerly awaited her response after disclosing everything—Adrian’s letter, our disagreement, and his justification.
“So, does anything he said make sense?” Sofia asked seriously. Do you believe he is being sincere?
“I’m not sure,” I said. I feel like screaming at him for even considering another woman, but I also question whether we are both at fault in this situation. Recently, we have both been drowning.
After pausing, Sofia made a recommendation. “How about attempting to contact Marissa? Listen to what she has to say. Sometimes it helps to hear things straight from the source.
I knew deep down that she was right, even if her idea made my stomach turn. In order to get answers, I needed to face them directly.
I was able to locate Marissa’s contact details using social media. I messaged her, my fingers shaking, introducing myself and asking if we could talk. She surprised me by responding almost right away and arranging to grab coffee later that week.
Marissa was quite different from what I had anticipated when we first met. Quite unlike the glitzy, cunning mistress I had imagined, she was kind, personable, and obviously going through a difficult time. amid our interview, she verified Adrian’s account that he had contacted her to offer support amid a challenging divorce, and their exchanges had remained purely amicable.
“But the letter…” I softly prodded.
Marissa let out a sigh and appeared contrite. Yes, I will confess that reading it caught me off guard. I assumed he was merely attempting to lift my spirits while engrossed in the moment. He agreed when I later told him that it went too far. To be honest, I believe that he regrets sending it.
I was disarmed by her candor. As our conversation came to a conclusion, I understood that placing blame on Marissa would not resolve the issue. My relationship—or lack thereof—with Adrian was the true problem.
When I got home that night, Adrian was drinking a cup of tea while sitting on the porch. As I got closer, he glanced up expectantly.
“I spoke with Marissa,” I said plainly.
His gaze expanded. “You did? What was it she said?
“She verified your account,” I said, sitting next to him. “She also said that you apologized after she confronted you about the letter.”
Adrian gave a serious nod. “I did.” I admit that I made a mistake. But you’re the one person I want in my life, Clara,” he said earnestly, turning to face me. It has always been and always will be.
I gave myself permission to breathe for the first time in many days. I whispered, “I believe you.” However, Adrian, we cannot continue to ignore the problems in our relationship. There must be a change.
“You’re correct,” he concurred. “Let’s work everything out together starting tomorrow. No more distance, no more secrets.
A tiny smile pulled at my mouth. “Agree.”
After several months, Adrian and I were stronger than before. Although our path wasn’t simple—we had to attend therapy sessions, schedule specific time for one another, and develop open communication skills—it brought us closer than we had been in years.
In retrospect, discovering that letter proved to be the much-needed wake-up call. I learned that trust takes time to develop and is susceptible to abuse. Uncomfortable realities and open discussions are sometimes necessary for partnerships to endure.
If this narrative teaches you anything, it’s that love frequently requires work and life rarely goes as planned. Don’t back down from challenges; instead, take them on head-on. You never know—the most fulfilling progress may come from the most difficult times.
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