“If you want me to know you, talk to me.

Don’t bring another three years of things you almost said and expect that to fill the space.”

He returned the letter to its envelope slowly.

For a moment, I was afraid he would leave and not answer again.

I felt the fear before I could stop it.

But fear was not a reason to tell him the letters had comforted me when they had made the hurt sharper.

He put them in his bag.