I’ve read your letter twice now, although I’m not sure what you’re looking for in terms of an answer. You ask if you’ve been honest, if you are honest, and I find myself biting my tongue not to ask in return: does it matter if you are, when the world prefers us better when we lie? They do. Women are meant to smile sweetly and be innocent. We are meant to nod at the expectations and call it a choice.

You’ve always been honest with me, I think. Perhaps not always with yourself, although deep down you always knew you were lying about something. Do I lie to myself? Yes.

I wake up beside a man who has never hurt me and loves his daughter very much, and I tell myself one day we may be in love. That would make this whole situation better, wouldn’t it? But you asked me a different question – if I could spend my last year doing something entirely differently, would I?

The truth in short, is no.

Because I love Emery with everything I have, and doing one little thing differently would result in losing her. No matter what else I might have given up, no matter who I used to be or what parts of myself I may have lost, I would still make the same decision again and again. She is mine. I am afraid I did choose to do something differently, part of me would always know that I was missing something. Missing someone.

And that, my dear, is a truth I can live with.

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