Dear Ms. Ross,
I am writing to inform you of the death of Robert Langston.
He died on November twenty-fifth, when the vehicle he was driving left the road and overturned. Alcohol was determined a factor in the crash.
Mari wiped away tears. He was gone. He had no power to hurt her anymore.
She kept reading, the rest scrawled in semi-neat handwriting at the bottom of the page.
I know this isn’t procedure, but I wanted to notify you myself. As the arresting officer in the original case, you and your mother have often been in my thoughts. Some cases are like that. I can only say that I hope you are well and that perhaps this might provide some sort of resolution for you and Mrs. Langston.
Sincerely,
Cst. Pat Moore
She remembered Constable Moore. He’d been steady, firm, gentle when questioning her at the hospital and then later when he’d testified at the trial. Somehow, having him be the one to break the news brought things full circle, even through something as simple as a letter. She wondered briefly if her mother was somewhere tonight, reading an identical letter, feeling the same relief…and regret.
Her first instinct was to tell Luca.
Mari looked up, swiping a finger under her lashes. Telling Luca was the last thing she should do. They’d all but said goodbye tonight. And he’d dealt enough with her problems. No, it was time to stand on her own two feet. The fact that she could—and be worry free—was a heady thought.
Standing, she walked over to where the painting he’d given her hung. She skimmed her fingers over the surface, the letter dangling from her opposite hand. She knew now what she hadn’t been able to put together the day she’d first seen it. She knew now not only that it had spoken to her, but what it said.
It was life; th
e life in her that he’d awakened. The life she’d fought for every step the way. And it bled on the canvas and she realized that by living, by feeling, she’d also opened herself up to hurt. And the shocking, glorious realization that it had been worth it.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She had sworn up and down that she’d moved on from the wounds Robert had inflicted on her, but that wasn’t true. She’d only covered them up. And then she’d met Luca and he’d made her face them, and he’d made her fall in love with him.
Only she’d been so crippled by her fear she hadn’t had the courage to fight for him. Even tonight she’d simply accepted what he’d said—that he was leaving.
She took the letter, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the fire.
Over the past weeks she’d wondered if she’d only been attracted to Luca because of Robert and what he’d done to her. She’d asked herself if she’d felt such an attachment because he seemed to protect her from her fear. Wondered if she’d been receptive to him because she’d needed him to make her feel safe after Robert had been released.
But it wasn’t true, none of it.
As the paper curled and flamed, reducing to ash, she knew without a doubt that she was free. And that freedom did absolutely nothing to release her from the longing she had for Luca.
The painting brought it all back, fresh and new. Luca’s smile, his eyes, the way he challenged her and pushed her and kissed her. The way he’d gotten her to talk about her abuse, and how she’d come to rely on him.
But the man who had made her life a living hell, who had beaten her mother and then her, who had put her in the hospital for weeks and who had caused years of therapy…was suddenly gone.
She no longer had to look around corners. She no longer had to deal with updates from parole officers, victim impact statements, or worry if he’d try to find her or if he’d come back to finish the job. She’d had no doubt that he was capable of it. And there was a little bit of guilt in the fact that a man had to die for her to feel free of her own personal prison.
She was rid of Robert Langston and she had the job, the life, she’d always wanted.
And somehow, she still felt completely empty.
She straightened her shoulders. As if preordained, the words of the note that had accompanied the painting rang in her ears: “When it speaks to your heart, you know it’s the right one.”
She’d been so very utterly wrong.
It hadn’t been about Robert. It was about Luca. He was the one that spoke to her heart. He was the right one. She could either accept what he’d said tonight, or she could fight for him. Was she brave enough?
There had been no chance to speak privately. With Luca planning on leaving so soon, the morning was completely filled with meetings and details. Mari looked across the table at him. The sinking feeling that had begun last night widened to a gulf that threatened to swallow her up.
It wasn’t about drapes and fixtures and figures anymore.