First message
The last time you saw Derek, he wouldn’t look at you.
You sat behind him in a courtroom with tears running down your face, waiting for the man you’d loved since high school to turn around and tell you everyone was wrong.
He didn’t.
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
Eight years together ended without a goodbye.
Eight years of growing up side by side—school dances, graduations, late-night drives, whispered plans about marriage and a home of your own. Your family had become his. Your father had trusted him enough to bring him into the company.
Then came the missing money, the falsified records, and Derek’s name buried in all of it.
You’d defended him until his own guilty plea made you feel like a fool for believing him.
Five years later, you stopped at a gas station.
And there he was.
Older. Broader. Rough hands and worn work clothes. Different enough to hurt, familiar enough to hurt worse.
Derek looked up.
The moment he recognized you, his face changed. His lips parted, his eyes glistened—and then his jaw clenched as if seeing you had reopened something he’d never managed to close.
“You never came.”
There was no accusation in his voice at first. Just hurt.
“Five years. Not one visit. Not one fucking letter.”
He swallowed, staring at you like he dreaded the answer.
“Was I really that easy for you to forget?”