Chapter 28

Cohen

Two months later

I felt nervous as I picked up the phone, my heart pounding in my chest.

“This is Cohen Ashton,” I said.

“Mr. Ashton, Detective Johnson here. Just wanted to tell you that we got your bad guys.”

I swallowed.

“You got them,” I said.

“Yep. Picked them up this morning. Turns out their alibi for the night of the fire was bullshit. We had enough to bring them in.”

“And the DNA test?”

“We got the guy who forged it, too,” he said. “I think that the case is closed. I think that they’re done for.”

“Jesus,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, detective.”

“Thank you for tipping us off. They’ve been playing this game for too long. It’s time for justice.”

“Justice,” I said. “Right.”

“Now, we may have to bring you in for some questions. Think you can deal with that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you again.”

“No problem,” he said, and hung up the phone. I sat there frozen for a moment, rubbing my hand over my mouth as I stared blankly at my computer screen. The realization dawned on me then—justice had happened. Bella and Gregory were done for. I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time, the first time, really, since Abby had left. I opened up my email, my finger hovering over the compose button as it had a hundred times in the past two months. I sighed instead, closing it, pulling out a piece of paper to begin the letter I had been wanting to write since the moment she’d gone.

Gabriella,

I apologize if you don’t want to hear from me. For a long time, I avoided writing this letter. I didn’t know what to say or how to tell you that I’m sorry. I wanted you to know, though, that Bella and Gregory are gone. They’ve been arrested for killing Paul and setting the fire. I have never been more relieved in my life, other than the moment you told me I could make love to you before you left. I think about that moment every single day and it kills me, but now I understand why you’re gone.

Whether you want this letter or not, I wanted to send it to you. I remember how hard it was to lose your mother and Paul’s letters. I remember how devastated you were that those journals burned, and so I wanted to send you a love letter to replace it, even if it goes unread.

I love you, Abby. I have never loved anything more. When I was on the streets, I didn’t think I’d make it. I had no hope. I never had hope until you started emailing me, and I started opening up to you in a way I never had before. I miss that—I miss everything about you, not just your kiss but your smile and the sound of your laugh. I wish every single day that I hadn’t pushed you away, but I guess even the short time we had was worth it to get to touch you.

I hope this finds you smiling and happy with your new job and life. You don’t have to respond, but I needed you to have this letter.

Love,

Cohen

I took a deep breath as I folded up the letter, slipping it into an envelope and addressing it to where I knew she was staying in San Antonio. I hoped that it was still the same place—I knew that Abby was working hospice after I’d gotten curious and looked her up one day, and with the nature of hospice I knew that she could move on at any time. Later that day, I sent the letter, knowing that I probably wouldn’t get a response. It didn’t matter—I would tell Abby I loved her a million times, replace her love letters, and only hope that she would get back to me with her own.