Unsent | Chapter 4

Hope in the Ruins

The coffee shop, a familiar haven, enveloped me in the warm, comforting aroma of roasted beans and cinnamon. I sat at our usual window table, the ceramic rim of my latte cool against my fingertips, stirring idly, waiting.

The letters, left behind in the attic, were a phantom weight, a persistent echo in my mind. The words, the buried feelings, swirled within me, a restless tide I couldn’t still.

“Lena.” His voice, usually a warm current, felt strained.

I looked up. Daniel approached, his usual easy smile a pale imitation, a mask barely concealing the turmoil beneath.

“Hey,” I said, forcing a lightness into my tone. “You okay? You sounded… off in your text.”

He sighed, the sound heavy, and slid into the chair. “Yeah. Work stuff. You know.”

I nodded, but the lie hung in the air, thick and palpable. Daniel had never been a master of deception, especially not with me.

We ordered, the familiar ritual a thin veneer over the unease. Black coffee for him, latte for me. Small talk, a brittle shield. Work. The weather. The new Thai place. But his shoulders were rigid, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the table.

“Dan,” I broke the silence, the words a quiet plea. “What’s going on? You’re… not yourself.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the dark swirl of his coffee. “It’s Emily. We’re getting a divorce.”

The words, sharp and sudden, struck like a physical blow. Their marriage, never a fairytale, but this… this was a chasm.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching across the table, my fingers closing around his. “Are you… okay?”

He shrugged, his voice tight, a raw edge beneath the surface. “I don’t know. I mean, I saw it coming. But it still…”

He trailed off, the unspoken words heavy between us. My chest ached for him, a familiar, instinctive response. But beneath the sympathy, a flicker of something else, something I refused to name.

Hope.

I shoved it down, the guilt a bitter taste in my mouth. This wasn’t about me. It was about him. About being the constant, the anchor, as I always had been.

We talked for hours, the coffee growing cold, the daylight fading. He spoke of the fights, the slow, insidious erosion of their connection. I listened, absorbing his pain, as I always did.

That night, the feeling, a persistent gnawing, wouldn’t release its grip. I climbed back to the attic, the box of letters a silent confidante.

I never thought I would be writing another letter just hours after reading my old letters to Daniel. My hands trembled as I wrote.

Dear Daniel,

You came today, and for the first time in years, I let myself believe. You were broken, and I, as always, was the one to piece you back together.

I know I shouldn’t feel this. You’re hurting, and I’m supposed to be your friend. But when you looked at me at that moment, a flicker of something sparked. What if? What if, after all this time, you finally see me?

I hate myself for this. For wanting this. But the silence, the years of unspoken love, feels like a slow, agonizing death.

I’ll never send this. I can’t risk losing you. But I needed to say it, if only to the shadows of this room.

Yours, always,

Elena

I set the pen and letter down, the paper a ghost against my skin. The illusion, sharp and vivid, flooded my senses. Daniel at my door, eyes red, voice trembling. A fight. Desperation. 

He’d come to me, as he always did...

That night, the hours stretching into dawn, I’d allowed myself the forbidden fantasy. A future where the years of waiting, the pain, were finally worth it.

But it hadn’t happened. Of course, it hadn’t.

My phone buzzed. Daniel.

Thanks for today. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

My heart twisted, a sharp, painful ache.

Anytime, I texted back. That’s what friends are for.

I set the phone aside, the weight of my unspoken feelings a heavy, suffocating stone.

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