By Jaclyn Adomeit
He stared at the email from long ago. The one written by her. It was not originally meant for his eyes, but she’d forwarded it later: a voyeuristic love note. It was first sent to her aunt: an explanation as to why there would be a strange man attending a family function.
He’s funny, and kind, and he loves the outdoors. Just wait until you meet him.
It might have been the first formal declaration of their attachment. He couldn’t remember—it was a whole relationship ago.
And he doesn’t have any family in town and I just thought I would bring him around for thanksgiving. But don’t make a big deal about it alright. I don’t want to scare him off.
It was filled with so many idealisms. Did she really believe them at the time?
God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you, just that he’d never tell you himself. He’s so humble and kind about everything.
She sure didn’t feel that way now.
On the war-torn frontline that was their home, they sat on opposite sides of the couch. The bangs and shouts of the most recent battle still hung in the air. He’d kept the email tucked away in his favorites folder, and he would peek at it sometimes on his phone—after a brutal day at work, or to buoy his self-confidence.