I’m sorry for everything.
I love you.
Your Dominic
PS Please put your happiness first
The letter fluttered to the coffee table as I buried my head in my hands.
And released ten years of grief.
I was glad there was no one around to see the snotty, snivelling mess Dom’s letter had reduced me to. After using half a toilet roll to clean myself up, I made my way through the next eight letters.
While the content was different, the sentiment was the same in each one. Dom’s love for me shone through as he told me about the places he’d been that year. Stories about the friends he’d made. How much he hated the food when they were out on patrol. The sights he’d seen and the friends he’d lost.
All of them repeated his apologies. His regrets. His wish that one day, we’d be reunited.
That I’d see him and smile.
Fuck, how I hated what had happened. I wished I could go back to my stag do. I’d run up to him, throw myself into his arms, and whisper in his ear how glad I was to see him. That I was fucking relieved he was home safe. That I’d missed him. That I loved him. Hell, I wished I’d been waiting at the airport, so that I was the first familiar face he’d seen when he arrived back on home soil. It was the least he deserved.
And I’d given him none of that.
All of them ended the exact same way as the first.
I’m sorry for everything.
I love you.
Your Dominic
PS Please put your happiness first
I cried each and every time I read it.
I had to pause to glug down a bottle of water before opening the final letter. Thanks to the tears I’d shed, I was in danger of dehydrating.
The clock on the wall ticked ominously, warning me that I was running out of time. But I couldn’t stop reading. Not until I’d reached the end.
The final envelope was crisper than the rest, telling me it had spent the least amount of time in Max’s pocket.
Shadow,
I hope this is the last one of these that I write to you.
And fuck, I hope you don’t ever read it.
Not because I want to hide anything from you, but because of what it’ll mean. If you’re reading this, it’s because I’m dead.
Or he had an interfering best friend determined to right past wrongs.
It’ll mean I’ve failed in the one thing I’ve been trying to do.
Get back home to you.
I can almost hear you asking why I’ve waited so long. Why I voluntarily signed up for two more stints rather than coming home. It’s what I’d ask in your shoes.
It’s because I’ve been doing what you asked of me—growing up. All this time, I’ve been reflecting on the person I am. The man I want to become. I like to think I’m someone worthy of you now. Or, at least, someone who will appreciate you the way you deserve.