Page 105 of Midnight Between Us
I didn’t know how to be whole.I didn’t even know what that looked like.I thought being strong meant hiding the broken pieces.I thought being strong meant punching the other person harder so they wouldn’t be able to fight back.I thought being strong was everything my father represented.Of course, I was wrong.
So fucking wrong ...but I don’t think any of us would have survived if we didn’t fight back.It became a problem when we were punching everything and anything that seemed like a threat to us or the ones we loved.
I used to believe love was something I had to earn—through pain, through sacrifice, through bleeding and breaking, and still saying, “I’m fine.”
And even then, I didn’t think I deserved it.
But I see it differently now.
Love isn’t about earning or deserving.
It’s not about perfect timing or flawless people.
It’s about choosing, again and again—even when it’s hard, even when you’re scared, even when you’re still healing.
So this is me, not asking for forgiveness.
Not expecting a future you haven’t offered.
Just standing still for once.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Just here, wanting you to know that I see you.That I ache to know the version of you who survived me.The version who pieced herself back together after I wrecked what should’ve been sacred.I want to know the woman you are now—stronger, wiser, maybe even more beautiful because of every scar.
And if there’s any part of you that still wants to know me—even just as the boy who once loved you with every shattered piece he had left—then maybe that’s enough.
Maybe that’s where we begin again.
Thank you for reading these.
Yours always,
Keir
ChapterFifty-Two
Keir,
I wasn’t sure if I would write back.
However, the truth is that your letters have been sitting on my nightstand like unfinished conversations.And I’ve always hated silence when there’s still something worth saying.
So here it is:
I don’t know what’s next, what this is, or if we can fix anything between us.The letters have been lovely.I’ve loved each and one of them.Some I re-read, like the one where you told me about the last day with your mom.How you almost didn’t make it to see her one last time because your anger and resentment didn’t let your love for her do the right thing.
I’m so glad you were able to say goodbye and hopefully forgive her for not being the mother you needed.
Adulthood changes the way you see things.Becoming a parent also changes your perspective on things.After Lyndon, I can’t understand why your mother didn’t defend her children.There has to be a reason.I just ...maybe we’ll never learn what really happened between your parents.
I also understood why Nina didn’t give me the love a mother should.My grandparents used me as a weapon to torture her.At some point she just didn’t want to care because it was easier.It hurt a lot less.
Once she left our small town, she discovered that life could be quite different.She worked, she fell in love—she has a family.She’s happy.Does it suck that I’m not a part of it?I’ve made my peace with everything and just hope that someday I’ll find happiness.I definitely deserve it—and maybe one day I’ll stop working and give myself a chance.
You asked to know the version of me who survived you.She’s quieter now.She doesn’t flinch at loneliness, but she doesn’t invite it to stay, either.She knows how to build a life on her own.But she’s willing to open the door—just a little—to see what’s possible.
