“Thankfully, you have your own letter to satisfy you,” I muttered.
“You’re not even a little bit curious?”
“Obviously, I am.”
He scratched his neck. “See, Sis, I’m failing to see the hang-up here.”
Of course, he didn’t understand. I loved my brother, but our priorities had always been different. “Opening that letter feels too real. I know John’s dead. I know he is, but seeing his final thoughts on paper makes it tangible. Its closure. It’s goodbye.” I placed my hand over my heart, voice breaking. “I’m not ready for this to be over.”
Lukas came to a crouch in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. “Liv, it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to take the meeting tomorrow. Put it off for at least a few days. That’ll buy you some time to figure out what the hell you want to do.”
“If I don’t do it now, my anxiety is only going to get worse. I’m already nauseous. I don’t know how much more I can take.” I tried to joke, but Lukas didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, Luke.”
His gaze softened. “Open the letter.”
I put up my finger. “I’d rather do it alone, actually. You don’t get to see my tears.”
“Open it, Livvy.”
I stared at the letter for only a moment before I swiped it off the table and tore it open. There was the faintest whiff of John’s aftershave on the paper. I closed my eyes, thinking back to all the times that scent brought me comfort.
It was like he was in this room with us. I could picture himsitting right behind the desk, like he so often was growing up. Or us sitting together in this garden as we watched the sky turn pink at dusk.
I’d give anything for that to be true.
Glancing up at my brother, he gave me a nod. I could do this. Ineededto do this.
Olivia,
I don’t have long to write this letter. You’ll be back from town any minute now. I’m glad you have a soft spot for old men who are dying and love chocolate. It works out very well for me, especially when I have a couple of things I need to say.
First, you need to know how proud I am of you. I’ve never seen anyone work quite as hard as you—including your brother, and he builds houses. (Please don’t tell him I said that. I don’t need him haunting me in the afterlife.) No matter the challenge, you’ve risen to every occasion. I’m convinced there isn’t a single thing you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.
Which brings us, not so gently, to the next matter.
From the time you were old enough to walk, music was your passion. You begged your parents to train you on all manner of instruments—some of which you excelled at, while others you did not. Do you remember your harmonica phase? Because I still have a headache from those excruciating months. Your father had to bury the damn thing just to get you to move on to something else.
But you never gave up. Music is in your blood. It’s a part of who you are. Which is why your father planned to entrust you with the company when you got older. We both know now that the handover came too soon. You were just a child grieving, and yet you were already being groomed to over take the company.
At first, I thought your fierce allegiance to Hartstrings was what we needed. In a way, I was right. Only someone with your level of determination could have taken a successful venture andgrown it tenfold. When your grandfather founded this business, I can tell you with certainty that he never dreamed it would be what it is today.
But that has all come at a cost I perpetuated, I fear.
You see, I pride myself on having lived a life without regrets. I never felt the absence of a spouse or children because you and Lukas brought more than enough light to my life. I never dreamed of more money because I inherited more than I could ever spend in a lifetime. I never wanted to slow down in my career because it was a part of who I was. It was my purpose in life.
Do not let it be yours.
I’ve sat back and watched you struggle to balance who you believe you have to be with who you are. Let me tell you now that it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to choose between being a mother or wife and having a career of value. Nor do you have to continue down a path you no longer recognize for the sake of doing what you believe is right or the only choice.
Olivia, you can have it all.
My one regret in this life is not telling you these words sooner. I helped you pursue a career at the top because I believed it was what you truly wanted, but I worry that was a mistake. We never really talked about it, did we? Before I shoved you in front of that boardroom and paraded you around as the future of the company.
For that, I am terribly sorry. I will never forgive myself for any harm I’ve caused. Please know it was never done with ill intent. I wish I had more time with you to make it right.
By now, my lawyer has informed you of your inheritance. This was not a decision I made lightly, but I trust that, after reading this letter, you will do what you feel is right. Whatever that may be.
My dear, I wish I could’ve said these words and so many more in person. I wish we had more time, but time is the one thing wecannot manufacture, so I hope these scribbled apologies on a piece of paper are enough.