Harley left in a way that told me she wouldn’t be coming back, and my heart, which had always beat steadily under pressure, raced wildly. I’d learned to repress my feelings in the midst of confrontation, but now, my emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

Because, of course I’d wanted her to stay. How could I not? Regardless of how she’d just talked to me, Harley was still the best woman—the best person—I’d ever met. She was a magnetic force, and I’d been lucky to exist in her orbit for even a fleeting moment.

But I had to push her away. She wasn’t ready for all of my issues; she had problems of her own, and she deserved better than to have me piling more onto her.

I cared about her too much to let her get involved with a man like me, a man who would inevitably let her down again. Her life was fragile, and I wasn’t ready to toy with it, or to introduce myself as the person I wasn’t sure I could ever be. Self-doubt and shame flooded my body, a foreign, horrible feeling.

I wasn’t good enough. I’d never be good enough. I would never have a wife, or a family. I’d die alone, just like my father. That was the Swann legacy, I now knew. Loneliness.

In desperate need of a distraction, I looked across the floor and saw the picture frame my father had left to me, now shattered in the haste of Harley’s departure.

I strode over to the fractured remains and carefully sifted through them to pick up the photo. My hands gently clasped around it and I turned it over, examining it for damage. That’s when I saw a smooth, cream-colored envelope taped to the back. In small, neat print was my name; I recognized the handwriting—it belonged to my father.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

I ripped open the envelope and slid out a few pieces of paper, all similarly covered in his handwriting.

He’d written me a letter.

This was his real final gift to me.

My heart-pounding, I began to read the note.

Ashton,

I am an old man, and my time is near. I can feel it as tangibly as the sun on my skin. I don’t have long now. I’m writing because I have one final message for you, one last lesson that I must impart before I have to go.

Son, my beloved son. I’ve spent these past few months realizing all the mistakes I made, all the ways in which I hurt the ones I loved. Ever since your mother’s death, I’ve pushed people away, put up walls so they couldn’t get in. I closed myself off from friends, from family—from you. I made my work my life, and refused any form of companionship.

Ashton, I can’t tell you how wrong I was. I thought that removing feeling from the equation would prevent me from ever feeling hurt again, would protect me from the tidal wave of pain that came with your mother’s passing. I thought I was doing the best thing for my sanity, and for your safety, but God…how I regret it.

I’ve debated trying to reestablish contact with you. I toyed with the idea for so long, but I thought you would never be pressed to forgive me, and I wouldn’t make you. After all, you’d be right—I don’t deserve forgiveness. Not after how I raised you in the image of myself, the image of a man doomed to wander the world alone. I made you something that nobody should ever have to be.

Pride, and fear of your rejection, held me back. Even knowing how fair it would be of you to turn me away, I didn’t think I could handle it. My heart would simply stop beating, for what else would chain me to this world? Nothing, and no one. So, I kept my distance. It was a foolish error by a prideful man. Sadly, I haven’t changed.

I am keenly aware that I failed to show you love after your mother’s passing—a time when you so desperately needed what affection I had to give. But I too was raised by a cold father; I didn’t know how to convey that I loved you. I would make a go at opening up, only to decide that it was safer for us both if I just remained at the office. Providing you with every luxury in the world was the only way I knew to show you that I cared. I realized, too late, that money didn’t translate into affection.

And I never told you how proud I was of you. I chose this photo because it was proudest day of my life—watching you graduate summa cum laude made my heart swell to the point of bursting. But instead of telling you that, and risking too strong a deviation from the norm of our relationship, I resorted to chastising you. It was a poor, mean defense mechanism. At this time in my life, I can only hope that a part of you knew what I was trying to say. The realistic side of me says that couldn’t possibly be true.

Ashton, I am sorry. My regrets outweigh all of my earthly possessions. I’ve gone through this thing we call “life” all wrong, and you received the blowback of my incalculable errors. I failed at being a father, the one job that truly mattered.

I’ve concealed this letter because I’m not sure I want you to find it. Even now, as my days draw to a close, I fear you knowing the man I really am. Perhaps it’s better for you to live with the image of me as a cruel, distant figure, rather than a feeble, regretful father.

Don’t follow in my footsteps, Ashton. Carve your own path. One filled with love, and laughter, family and friends, marriage and children. Fill your world to the absolute brim; that’s what it means to be human.

I love you more than you can ever know.

Sincerely,

Your Father,

Harold Swann

I sat back on my heels. In less than two minutes, my whole world had changed. The letter…my father’s words…nothing could be the same, now.

I wouldn’t become the man he’d been. A man who concealed his deathbed confession because he couldn’t bear to tell me he loved me. I couldn’t.

The only way to move forward was to respect his final message—to love freely.

“Harley,” I whispered. Bounding to my feet, I stuffed the letter in my breast pocket. There was only one thing to do: I had to get the girl back.

I ran full tilt out of my office, down one corridor after another. The faces of my colleagues turned through glass dividers as they saw my tie fly over my shoulder, my leather shoes skid across the slippery floor. Maybe they thought me deranged, or possessed. I couldn’t care less.

As if by fate, the elevator was waiting for me. I hopped in, hammered the ground floor button, and bounced on my toes as the car descended. Too slow, too slow, I thought. I’ll never make it in time.

Blessedly, no one called the elevator during my ride. Once more, the universe assisted me. I wasn’t a superstitious man, but I couldn’t ignore the signs—this was meant to be.

The box touched the bottom floor, and the doors had barely opened a full half foot before I leaped through them, my suit buttons scraping against the metal, one popping off in the process. Screw it. I had a million suits. There was only one Harley.

My head swung left to right, scanning the building for her. She couldn’t have left, not yet, not when there was so much left for me to say. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, of people in the lobby, but no sign of the woman I needed more than anything.

And then, as if out of nowhere, she materialized. She was about a hundred feet away, and walking out the front door, for what would be the last time if I didn’t move fast.

I sprinted from the elevators, past the front desk, past the coffee bar, until I was mere yards from her.

“Harley,” I called.

She spun around mid-stride, and her eyes landed on me. I knew with certainty that I wanted to see those eyes every morning and every night for the rest of my life. Only now, they contained traces of red, obviously the remnants of tears. I kicked myself internally for making her cry. I was cruel, just like my father.

No, an inner voice told me, one that sounded oddly like that of my deceased father. This isn’t how your story ends.

“Harley,” I repeated. “I need a do-over.”

She remained silent, seemingly unmoved. I had no idea what to make of her reaction, but I wasn’t ready to quit.

“I was wrong,” I said, my voice trembling. “About you, about me, about all of it. I’ll explain later, but I got a…message that showed me just how much I’d misjudged everything. I was stupid, and blind, and I could make excuses for my behavior, try to justify it with my history and upbringing, but I won’t. I’ll just say that I’m sorry.”

She lifted her gaze from the ground to meet my eyes, and I could tell that the ice was thawing, if only in millimeters. If I gave up now, I would lose her forever.

“I love you, Harley,” I declared. “I love you, and I love Levi, and I know I haven’t shown that very well, and that I let my fears get the better of me, but I’m not scared anymore. The manly thing to do, and the right thing to do, is to let love into my life. To let you in. If you’ll have me, that is.”

I stopped abruptly, realizing I might have been too presumptuous, that it was entirely possible that Harley didn’t even feel the same way. What if I’d said all of this, and what if she thought I was crazy or scary or lying, and what if it all backfired and—

My racing thoughts were interrupted by the smile that was beginning to break across Harley’s face. It was small, but it was there. The smile cast a sheen of hope over my life, like the sun over the ocean in the Bahamas. She still believed in me.

“I didn’t quite hear you,” she said mildly.

“Really?” We were standing only a few feet apart.

“I didn’t hear you,” she reiterated. Then, meaningfully, she underscored her words. “Perhaps you should say it a little louder.”

“I don’t understand; how did you not hear me?”

She explained, “I want you to declare your love for me, loudly, right here, right now, so everyone can hear it. You have to show me that you’re done with this cold, distant persona, that you’re somebody who could bring cookies to a PTA meeting, or chat with other parents on the playground. Tell everyone what you told me. I don’t want you to live under this shadow of your reputation anymore.”

“If that’s what it takes,” I replied, “so be it.”

I pivoted away from her, and towards the wide, open area of the lobby. Hundreds of my employees walked to and fro, heads down, tapping away on their phones. This was the most public place in the building. I was surprised to find I didn’t care.

I cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted, “I love you, Harley Phillips!”

The entire lobby, previously a hive of activity, came to a standstill. Hundreds of eyes landed upon me, each set more confused and shocked than the last. A few phones were subtly tilted, obviously intending to catch my announcement. I didn’t care—let them see, let them post it on social media. Everybody needed to know who I really was…or at least, who I really wanted to be.

“I’m done being an asshole,” I declared. “I’m done being cold, unfeeling, and scary. I know that’s how you all see me—how the whole world sees me—but I can’t live like that anymore.”

I reached out one hand and tentatively grabbed Harley’s. She allowed me to hold it, silently giving me the encouragement I needed. The room remained still, fixated on the events that were unfolding.

I gestured to Harley and announced, “This woman has shown me that life doesn’t have to just be about money, or work, or perceived success. But, rather, that it can also be about love, and family, and happiness.”

The only noise in the room was my deep breathing. I turned to face Harley, and found that tears were streaming down her face.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly. My employees didn’t need to see her exposed; that wasn’t part of the deal.

“These are happy tears,” she explained with a laugh. Then, in a louder tone, audible to all, she said, “I love you too, Ashton Swann.”

I pulled her into a deep embrace, and much to my surprise, a chorus of claps and cheers began to rise from the gathering of Swann Innovations employees. I held tight to Harley as it grew louder and louder, until at last, we were awash in a sea of ecstatic din.

Still holding her close, I leaned into her ear and whispered, “I love you, Harley Phillips.”

“You’d better, because I love you too.”

With that, she took hold of my face, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me.