Chapter 19 – Selene's Revelations
Selene sat at her desk long after midnight, the photograph lying in front of her. She hadn't taken it out in months.
Two girls smiling in sunlight: herself and Maren, arms wrapped around each other, faces lit with an innocence she barely recognized anymore. Behind the photograph, unseen in the frame, was the tension that had since hollowed out her family — words spoken too sharply, silences that lasted too long, the ache of never quite being enough for the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally.
Her hand hovered above the pen, shaking. She knew once she wrote this letter, there would be no going back. Adrian wasn't just a stranger anymore. He wasn't just ink on paper. He was someone who had cracked himself open for her.
If he could tell her about Elias, she could tell him this.
She pressed the pen to the page.
Selene's Letter
(the handwriting deliberate, slower than usual, as if each word is pulled from a hidden place she has never let anyone see)
Adrian,
I've been keeping things from you. I told myself it was safer — that you didn't need my weight added to yours. But the truth is, hiding has only made me feel smaller. You've been honest with me, even when it hurt. I think I owe you the same.
I don't have an ex, or anyone like that in my past. What I do have is a family that feels more like a wound than a home. My parents and I don't speak much anymore. When we do, it's never gentle. It's like every conversation is another reminder that I am not what they wanted. That I will always be their disappointment.
The only person who feels like home is my sister, Maren. She's younger, but she's the one who makes me laugh, who keeps me tethered. I keep a photo of us from years ago, when things still felt whole. I've hidden it in my drawer for so long that it feels like a secret, but maybe it's time to share it. If I could send it through the page, I would. But for now, I'll just tell you: it's the only picture I have that proves there was once light between all the shadows.
I don't tell you this for pity. I tell you because when I read your letters, I don't just see your pain — I see your courage in putting it into words. And I want to match that honesty. Even if it scares me.
You wrote that you're glad I exist. I don't think anyone has ever said that to me before. So here is my truth: I'm glad you exist too. Even if I've never seen your face, even if all I know of you is what you've written. Somehow, that feels like more than enough.
— Selene
When she finished, Selene's hand ached, her heart pounding as though she'd just confessed a crime. She folded the letter carefully, slipping it into the envelope with shaking fingers.
The photograph still lay on her desk. She stared at it for a long moment, tempted to tuck it inside the letter. But not yet. Not this one. She wasn't ready to let go of it entirely.
Instead, she placed it back in the drawer — not hidden, this time, but resting on top, as if waiting for its moment.
As she sealed the envelope, Selene whispered softly, "Now you know."
And for the first time, the truth didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a bridge.