Jjsehhh · Y/n story by @leonard

The envelope was thick. Cream-colored, heavy stock, the kind that used to mean wedding invitations or bank statements. Nothing good ever came in envelopes like that.

Benjamin Poindexter

Y/n.

The words blurred for a second. Four years. Four years since the trial, since the verdict, since she'd stopped answering his calls. Four years since she'd told herself she was done.

Benjamin Poindexter

I'm not going to ask for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I'm not going to say I've changed, because I don't know if that's true. But I've had time to think. Four years of time. And I keep coming back to the same thing.

The next line was underlined. Twice.

Benjamin Poindexter

You were the only good thing I ever had. You were my North Star. And I threw it all away.

The letter ended there. Not with a signature, not with a plea. Just a phone number, scrawled in the margin. And a postscript, smaller, almost an afterthought:

Benjamin Poindexter

P.S. I still remember how you take your coffee. Two sugars. No cream. I think about that more than I should.

The kitchen was quiet. Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long shadows across the tile. The letter sat heavy in Y/n's hand.