Letters And Tears
Remi’s POV
Rowan told me to ignore her.
“She wants a reaction,” he murmured, his hand on the small of my back as he guided me through the lobby, his touch gentle but firm. “Don’t give her one.”
But I frowned.
We hadn’t even lasted an hour in the charity ball. A place that was supposed to be about healing, rebuilding. Instead, it turned into another scene—another public unraveling of secrets and bloodlines and sharp-edged history.
The town car pulled up, and Rowan helped me inside. I slid into the seat, the weight of the gown suddenly too much. The second the door shut behind us, I leaned my head against the cool window and stared out.
I didn’t cry. Not yet.
But my chest felt tight.
We drove through the city in silence, the lights outside nothing more than blurry golds and whites smearing across the glass. I tried not to think. Tried not to feel. But the words Gigi said kept bouncing around in my head like cruel little echoes.
First love never dies, Remi.
That’s why he never hurt me.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
He did have a shitty childhood. I knew that. I knew he carried scars no one saw, that he learned how to weaponize silence and wear cruelty like armor. But Gigi—she'd always been a storm in her own right. Bold. Manipulative. Clever. And yet… he never did to her what he did to me.
I turned away from the window, voice quiet but steady. “Rowan.”
He glanced at me. “Yeah?”
I stared straight ahead. “Why didn’t you ever hurt Gigi?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
I looked at him, and he was watching me with that quiet, unreadable expression he wore when he was choosing his words too carefully.
“You hurt me,” I said, voice cracking just slightly. “You said things to me—did things to me—that no one should say to someone they married. You said I was disgusting. Weak. You slept with someone else on our wedding night, Rowan. And yet… with her, you never raised your voice. Never pushed. Never—”
“Remi.” His voice was hoarse. He reached for my hand. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“I’m not blaming myself,” I said, pulling my hand away gently. “I just want to know why. Why did I get the worst of you?”
His shoulders sank. “Because you mattered.”
That stunned me.
He looked down, elbows on his knees, voice low. “Because I couldn’t ignore you. I couldn’t control you. You saw through every mask I wore, and it terrified me. Gigi never made me feel anything I couldn’t walk away from. But you… you cracked me open. And I hated you for that. I hated myself for what it made me feel.”
He looked up, eyes raw.
“I’ve spent every day since then trying to make up for it.”
Silence filled the car like smoke.
Then, gently, he reached out and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, Remi.”
He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Warm. Quiet. Not a promise. Not a plea. Just… him.
I closed my eyes, breathing him in.
When I opened them again, he was still watching me.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.
“Is this related to what you saw back there?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Rowan nodded slowly and reached into his jacket. I hadn’t even noticed he’d kept the file. He handed it to me without a word.
I took it with steady hands, but my heart was racing.
“Open it,” he said gently.
I slid my fingers beneath the flap and pulled out the papers inside.
The first thing I saw was a name I hadn’t heard in years.
Elena Harper Farsworth.
My throat tightened. I blinked hard, but the name didn’t change. My mother’s name. Right there. On official paper, under a government crest, stamped with legal weight.
Below it… another name.
Sebastian Vaughn.
Engagement record. Dated. Signed. Real.
I tried not to react. Tried not to let my face crumble. But I felt it—the cracking. Like ice underfoot, one shift away from breaking open.
“I didn’t know,” Rowan said softly. “I swear, Remi. I never knew. My grandfather never spoke of her. I don’t know how long it lasted. Or why it ended. But this—” he gestured toward the document, “—was buried. Deep.”
My lips parted, but I didn’t know what to say.
“I thought she met my father when she was young,” I whispered. “I thought… she married out of love.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“She would’ve been barely legal.” I swallowed hard. “And he was already a grown man. A powerful one.”
I flipped to the next page.
Letters.
Folded, worn. Some handwritten. Some typed. All addressed to Harper.
I stared at the name. My mother’s real name. The one she never used around me.
I didn’t read them yet. I couldn’t. My fingers trembled too much.
“I’ll read them when we get home,” I whispered. “I need time.”
Rowan nodded, and I could see it—he wanted to say more. Apologize again. Hold me. Fix it. But he knew better.
I folded the documents carefully, like they might shatter if I touched them wrong, and rested them in my lap.
*****
I stared out the window. But this time, I wasn’t thinking about Gigi.
I was thinking about my mother.
And all the things she never said.
The house was quiet. Rowan had gone to make tea—he offered, softly, like he knew I needed space but still wanted to be nearby. Jo had taken the twins out for the day. It was just me, a folded set of letters on my lap, and the storm swirling inside my chest.
I unfolded the first one slowly, the paper soft and aged, as if it had held onto years of silence. The handwriting was familiar—elegant, slanted, unmistakably hers.
My Dearest Remi,
If you’re reading this… then you found the truth I never had the strength to tell you.
I don’t know where to begin. I’ve written this so many times and ripped it up just as many. But this time, I won’t. I owe you that.
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