Page 21 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
All I could think of was Schrödinger’s cat—if I didn’t open it, then nothing inside could be real. She couldn’t be telling me she wanted a divorce. She couldn’t be telling me she was done.
I must’ve sat there for an eternity before I finally gave in. I opened the note with shaking hands, letting my eyes adjust while a tear escaped in fear of what I could be facing. I leaned forward and took in the words my wife had written me.
Caden,
I got your letter. And the dinner. All of it. And yes, it meant something. It really did. But to be honest, it’s not enough. Not for this moment. Not for today. Not for me. Though I wish it could be.
Though I think you already know that.
Yes, you remembered some of my favorites. Yes, you may have meant what you wrote. God, I hope you did. But this week—my birthday—it was too late. You’ve had years.
And that purse…it meant more than just the material it was made of. Not only that, I’ll forever have to see it when Macy carries it—a constant reminder that I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough for you to choose me and my feelings. While I hate how petty that sounds, I hope you understand that this is not about being in competition. It’s about being considered at all and, right now, I don’t feel considered. I don’t feel seen. I don’t feel loved.
I’m not punishing you. This isn’t payback. This is me standing up for myself. Speaking up for myself. Even though it hurts to do it.
I need space—real space—without expectations, without you trying to fix things with a gift or a grand gesture. Without worrying about how you feel or what you’re doing.
So this weekend is mine. Mine alone. You are not welcome.
I don’t mean that to be harsh. I just want to be clear: I don’t want you trying to ride in and ‘save the day.’ You can’t. Not today, and not this weekend.
I deserve this birthday. I deserve to feel full of life. To feel free. And I don’t need anyone’s permission—not even yours—to reclaim that. Even if it terrifies me.
I don’t want to talk to you until I get back. Please don't reach out unless it’s an emergency, but I will text you to let you know when I get to my destination safely.
When I get back, we’ll see if I feel like talking.
I want you to know that I do love you. I’ve never stopped. The choice to celebrate me is not about my love for you.
Right now I need to take a moment to love myself.
Love,
Felicity
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
And each time, something inside me cracked a little further.
She was right. God, I hated that she had to leave to make a point. I hated that I didn’t even know where she was—anywhere in the world, really. I’d waited until it was too late to try. I’d treated her like an afterthought.
And now she was claiming what she should never have had to fight for in the first place: Her happiness. Her time. Her damn birthday.
I let the note fall to the desk and dropped my head into my hands. The emptiness of the house echoed her absence. And her words echoed in my chest.
She wants no contact.
Just space.
I wasn’t used to feeling this powerless. But I knew I’d earned this silence.
And now, all I could do was wait—and start the long road of proving I’m still worth coming back to.
Chapter 9: Letter to Myself
~Felicity~
