First, let me explain the nature of this book before I can explain it to my wife.
Once upon a time, a wonderful girl fell in love with an unworthy boy, and she decided to write their tale.
Her tale opened that stupid boy’s eyes.
It made true love leap over rules and boundaries.
It survived years wrapped in plastic and protected at all costs in a well-travelled backpack.
It was the best tale the boy had ever read.
But it was also missing something.
It was missing the side of the story from the boy who fell in love with the girl, but he wasn’t as eloquent as she.
So he had to improvise.
He enlisted the help of a ghost writer to turn messy dictated thoughts into words worthy of being beside hers, and he didn’t have a lot of time to do it.
It was my hardest secret.
And even now, I’m unsure I did the right thing.
But it’s too late to change my mind. Too late to approve or deny the finished copy.
I just have to hope our story is enjoyed.
And I have to trust that every word I chose proves the same thing her words do.
That I loved her.
Painfully so.
The words danced and bounced as my hands shook and shook.
Sobs and heaving quakes took hold of me as I turned the page and found yet another letter.
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t prepared.
I would never be ready to say goodbye because that was what this was.
A goodbye.
A final farewell organised in secrecy.
My Dear Beloved Ribbon,
I hope you can forgive me for taking our privacy and making it public.
I hope you can understand why I had to do it and why it had to be this way.
And I hope you can still love me for not being there to hold you.
For not being able to stop the pain.
This wasn’t an easy thing to do—I almost stopped countless times.
But after years of watching over your shoulder as you typed, reading the paragraphs you chose, and feeling the love you had for me, it was finally my turn.
My turn to write you a love story.
And, God, what a love story it is.
You were the air I breathed and the life in my heart, Della.
You are the sole reason I existed and always will be.
Without you, I would never have been a father, brother, or husband.
Without you, I would never have known exquisite joy and utter heartbreak.
Without you, I would have been nothing.
And because of you…I am something.
I am loved.
I am missed.
I am wanted.
I was sold to the Mclary’s for one purpose and one purpose only.
To find you.
And I’ll find you again…soon.
This isn’t the end…we both know that.
I’ll be waiting…somewhere.
I’ll be watching…somehow.
And when the time comes for you to join me, I’ll gather you in my arms and hold you tight.
Come find me.
Come find me on the meadow where the sun always shines, the river always flows, and the forest always welcomes.
Come find me, Little Ribbon, and there we’ll live for eternity.
And now, because I can’t stand to leave this tale so unfinished, please read the end.
The end I wrote for you.
Until we meet again…
I love you.
I closed the book.
Unable to read more.
Not prepared to endure more pain.
One day, I would read it.
But not today.
Today, I needed to grieve…truly grieve.
To weep and wail and admit that there would always be a piece of me forever broken. A piece of me that would always be lost until my dying breath delivered me back to my loved one.
But even in my grief, I had responsibilities. I had a son who missed his father, and I had a world that needed to continue.
So, as I clawed my way to my feet, hugged Ren’s book to my chest, and stepped from the willow’s comforting fronds, I made a promise to keep going.
To do what Ren had said.
To let go…if only for a second.
My eyes fell on Jacob.
He sat in the middle of the hay field, golden all around him, gold sun above him, gold future ahead of him, and my heart did what it hadn’t been able to do. What I never believed I was capable of.
It healed…just a little.
It accepted…just a little.
Our love story wasn’t over.
It was just…paused.
With my white dress fluttering around my legs, I strode into the sunlight, carrying truth and heartache and everlasting love.
I was lucky.
Eternally lucky to have loved and cherished and adored.
And when that day came when this life was over, I would find that love again.
I would go home to him.
Because our story had never been about a fleeting romance or fairy-tale. It had always been about life.
It was about love.
It was about the journey from nothing to something.
The travels from individual to pair.
The adventure from empty to whole.
And that was what transformed mortal into magic.
It was what songs were made of.
What hearts were formed of.
What humans were born to become.
The sun shone brighter, drenching buttery light everywhere it touched.
The paddock was almost ready for baling.
The land providing routine and clockwork timing.
And as my son looked up from feeling my eyes upon him, he waved just like Ren used to. His hand switched into a come-hither, and I went.
I held my head tall. I let my tears fall. I allowed myself the freedom to love in all its painful, exquisite heartache.
And when I reached him, I sat in the wildflowers and hugged him.
He hugged me back, fiercely, healingly. “Did you read the end like he said?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“You should.” He kissed my cheek as we pulled apart, so wise, so brave, so pure. “If he told you to, you should.”
I laughed gently. “Just like I did everything he told me, huh?”
“Yep.” He smirked, growing serious again. “There’s a whole box of books there. You should at least read one of them.”
“Maybe.”
“But what if it’s good?”
“Then it will be good when I’m ready.”
“But what if it makes you happy?”
I swallowed another wash of tears. “You make me happy. I don’t need anything else.”
He looked down, running his small hand through the blades of grass. “I miss him.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He picked a purple flower and held it to me. “Would you read me the story? If Dad wrote it, and you haven’t read it either, it’s kinda like him coming back, right?”
My chest squeezed as I took his gift and twirled the pretty petals. “Just because there are pages with his words on them doesn’t mean he’s alive, Wild One.”
“I know. But…” He looked up earnest and imploring and hopeful. “I think he would want you to read it.”
“I know.”
“Can I read it?”
“Not until I know what he’s written.” I tapped his nose, so similar to mine. “Not sure if it’s suitable for eleven-year-old nosy parkers.”
He grinned. “I think he’d let me read it.”
“I think you’re getting too bossy.”
“I think you’re afraid.”
I sucked in a breath, jerking back a little.
He noticed, crawling closer and hugging me tight. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
It took a moment for me to swallow my sobs. “You’re right, Jacob. I am afraid.”
We sat huddled together for a while, letting the sun warm us even when the hollowness in my heart was always cold.
Finally, Jacob pulled away. “Read it, ’kay? Don’t leave him in the box.”
A tear escaped. “Okay.”
“You will?”
“I will. I’ll be brave. I owe him that much.”
He nodded. “Yep and then you can read it to me.”
I smiled, doing my best not to let my mind run away with questions. What had Ren done? What ending had he written? “We’ll see.”
Standing, I took his hand in mine and headed toward the house.
Jacob squeezed my fingers with yet another question. “Even though he’s gone…he would want us to be happy, right, Mom?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s watching us right now?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Do you think he’s happy watching us?”
I pictured Ren somewhere free in the forest, peering through leaves and fantasy to protect us from afar. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, that settles it then.” His hand slipped from mine as he ran toward the house shouting, “Read it tonight. And maybe you’ll be happy, too.”
EPILOGUE CONT
DELLA
2033