Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 54383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
“Why did you stop writing letters to me?” I ask, unable to let that go. “Better yet, did Scarlett really say that she wanted me to move on without her?”
“Huh?” She raises her eyebrow. "What letters?"
“The ones you used to write before you stopped.” I pull a few of them from my bag. "I saved all of them because I was hoping we could still be somewhat cordial when I was released.”
She takes one of the letters from my hands, flipping through its pages and looking confused.
“Easton…” She shakes her head. “I didn't send you these. I didn't even write these."
“This is your handwriting, Tully.” I’m tempted to ask if she’s struggling with memory loss, but the irony of that question holds me back.
“It’s close to my handwriting, but…” She continues flipping through the letters. “I swear I didn't write these.”
“None of them?”
“No.”
What the hell is she saying? “What about when you told me that Scarlett’s kidney failed? Does she have a dialysis schedule or did she get a transplant?”
“She gave me her kidney.” She crosses her arms. “How do you know anything about that?”
“Okay, wait, wait.” I’m getting confused. “I thought—”
“Scarlett is fine,” she says. “I mean, as fine as you can be after all the shit she’s been through. She had her moments, but they put her on a different recovery plan and she recovered before I did.”
The world suddenly shifts under my fucking feet. My previous years away play in my head in a blur, and the fact that she can’t remember the letters isn’t a memory failure at all.
Scarlett wrote them…
“You look like you're about to faint, Easton.”
“I need to step outside for a second.”
I turn away without another word and return to the veranda.
A gray car pulls into the driveway as I grip the railing.
The driver's side door opens and Scarlett steps out. Her dark brown hair has hints of honey highlights and she has a few small scars on her arms and face.
She’s still as fucking beautiful as the first day I met her, and there’s—
My thoughts come to a complete halt as she opens the back door, revealing a bright pink car seat with a sleeping child inside.
What. The. Fuck?
I slowly walk down the steps into her line of view.
Her face pales and her eyes widen.
She looks tempted to return to her car and drive off, so I walk toward her before she can make that decision.
“You’ve moved on that fast?” I ask. “New guy, new baby?”
“Something like that…”
I can’t fathom that idea, so I stick to the main issue at hand. The lies.
“Please tell me this is a nightmare that I’ll wake up from soon,” I say. “Please tell me you didn’t send me letters for over a year pretending to be your fucking sister. Tell me I'm wrong about that.”
She doesn't say a word.
Tears run down her cheeks.
“Scarlett, say something.”
“How are you even here right now, Easton?”
"That's a conversation for a different day,” I say. “Let’s stick to the first one. You’ve been lying to me this entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She shakes her head.
“How could you do that to me? Why would you not want me to know that you were recovering?”
“I…” She sighs. “I sent you a letter explaining everything. You were supposed to get it today.”
"Well I’m not in prison anymore, so feel free to explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will. What exactly is in this fucking letter, Scarlett?”
“Everything…”
“Including you admitting that you're a liar who just wants to play mind games with me?”
“No.”
“Then tell me Scarlett. What's the fucking truth?”
“Please keep your voice down.” She pleads, looking over her shoulder.
“I don't care if anyone hears me.”
“Wait here.” She walks to the car and opens the back door.
When she stands back, she's holding a sleeping baby girl in her arms.
As she comes closer, I can’t help but notice how pretty her daughter is. How she looks exactly like Scarlett and Tully, except for her eyes.
Her eyes are…Mine…
The muscles in my stomach twist and Scarlet carries the little girl inside, and my mind is running through a list of timing equations.
Scarlett returns to me moments later, her eyes redder than before.
“We were talking about the letter I sent you,” she says. “If I’d known—”
“How old is your daughter?”
“One.”
“Is she mine?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracks. “She’s yours…Ours.”
My heart was broken before, but now I think it’s imploding.
“You didn’t think enough of me to include a mention of a daughter in any of your fake Tully letters?”
“I had a good reason for leaving it out.”
“That’s fucking unforgivable.”
"Easton, listen to me.”
"You made me think that you were nearly fucking dead for months, Scarlett.” I can't soften the vitriol in my voice. “Nearly dead. I almost killed someone for you. I went to prison because I didn’t want to live without you. Do you have any idea how... How could you do this to me?"