“I did what I thought was right

All for the love of my life

I know it’s sad but true.

Something is very wrong.

Condemned to suffer so long.

For a love so true.”

~ “A Question of Heaven” Iced Earth

I finished the letter on the 28th of November, put it in the mail on the 29th so she would receive it on November 30th— the date we reconnected. I wrote it on pretty stationary, a nod to the letter she wrote me. I hated to ask her for the necklace back and never considered doing so until she posted the pic of her on Jackson’s lap. For her to believe for a second that our love, a love she led me to believe was special and one I put my heart and soul into, betrayed her kids, there was no other option left but the unthinkable. If Anya did send it back, I'd then put it up on E-bay in order to survive with the remnants of my heart she left me with. Holding onto it would only remind me of what I didn’t have. After my eyes witnessed the picture of her sitting cozily on the lap of the man she told me horrible things about to put her hooks in me, it went against the very reason I spent time getting the necklace for her in the first place. If she never wanted the necklace to be something of a promise from me, that’s fine. But a woman with any sincere intentions to be with me would’ve wanted it to mean that much and more. The woman I came to know and love, was simply not the same person I gave the necklace to.

The last thing our love should’ve ever represented to her was a betrayal of her kids after allowing and encouraging me to fall madly in love with her. And if that was what she felt about our love, then why continue to hold on to the necklace? If she had any plans to post that picture, especially after sending her a thirty-page apology letter, she should’ve sent it back to me before she posted it. I didn’t want to blame her for what I faced now because I hoped to be wrong about her love for me. But the last thirteen months should have brought her enough clarity to realize what I asked her in the letter—to never shield me from the truth like one of her kids. If she returned the necklace, it would prove I wasn’t crazy for ever questioning her love—that she gaslighted me into believing I formed my own truths and conclusions. That all along, my truth and conclusions were both fair, accurate and just; that the reason our love didn’t work out was because she didn’t know what love was. Only feeling like love to her because everything she received from me was on her terms, and not on mine. That she only loved me as a confidant and nothing more—part of a small pool of available men who would give her that, even allowing her to stay in her marriage. For two years I believed she knew what love was because of all she experienced with Jackson. That money and things held no greater value anymore—something she taught her kids. I don’t know if she played me for a fool, but it’s as close to playing someone for a fool as one could come. If she sent me the necklace back, it would confirm my gut feeling and instinct that she didn’t love me as she claimed. That time allowed her to see what I started to see—that love meant a lot more than not wanting to face anything anymore. If Jackson would never allow us to be together and she would honor that, then she had no business asking me to fight for her. She owed me my life back by being honest.

Reluctantly checking my mail box every day, by December 4th, she still had not responded to my letter. I’m sure she needed time to digest it—it likely caught her off guard, needing time to consult with Carolyn and Debbie to get their advice. I didn’t want the necklace back and felt like an asshole asking for it, but my need for truth destroyed my noble quality. If I had known she felt our love betrayed her kids, I would’ve never sent her a necklace—having no clue she asked for something to wear of mine on fairly false grounds. Her love for me simply should’ve never felt as if she betrayed her kids if it was “special” and “out of this world”-- her own words, not mine. She also should’ve never invited me to Laguna Beach, San Diego, or San Francisco, let alone share with me all she did, if she felt our love betrayed her kids in any way. I would’ve never fallen for her nor allowed myself to be a part of this, not because I didn’t care for her, but because I’d never want her to feel she betrayed her kids. She threw me unto the tracks of an oncoming subway with her words, and nothing a woman ever did to me, or said to me, had ever sounded more loveless—and it came from the only woman who ever loved me. Who only accepted me for me because she didn’t really have to be with me. If she was working on her marriage and posting pics of her jackass husband on Facebook, things she knew hurt me badly, then just have the decency to send me back my necklace before doing so. Especially after receiving a CD of love songs from me.

What hurt the most is realizing how much she never respected my feelings and emotions. That she looked at my love as unrealistic, discounting all I ever felt for her. More than anything, I trusted her to never pit our love against her kids, a battle I would never want to win let alone have a chance at ever winning, and she did just that. If she did plan to send the necklace back, I’d rather she not write me anything—I don’t want to read “You’ll meet someone new”; she has no grounds to say that to me. Her “love” for me would be a complete disregard for my heart, and she could never say anything to me that had value ever again. I didn’t fall in love with her for the sake of falling in love—I fell in love to be with her. She told me I was her hero, then misled me to continue to do hero things for her. So many hero things it left me empty—a complete zero. If she did write me back, she had to acknowledge what she did was wrong. If she wanted me to let her go, she needed to communicate something that would help me in that direction—scrapping the ego her wealthy husband gave her and accept her responsibility in this, the same way I accepted mine in a thirty-page written apology.

I never asked her to leave her kids to be with me and never pushed her to run away each time she told me she felt like doing so--if she truly loved me her heart would follow. If she ever believed money didn’t lead to happiness, why did she never consider teaching her kids that it did was betraying them too? Anya could’ve vouched for me in so many ways, but she never did. I gave her the thingie under the condition she was truly in love with me, and not because I was her confidant and her love existed on the condition of secrecy. That she knew what love was and what it meant to be in love. I was sick of false hope. I would’ve never wanted her to be with me if it would hurt her kids—I wouldn’t have wanted them to hate her. So, I just wanted a piece of my heart back so I could have closure. She wasn’t in love with me, she only loved me--always believing I meant more to her than semantics. A woman who had any true intentions of being with me would’ve wanted the necklace to represent a promise, and not just a keepsake--love would never preclude any intentions to be with the person they loved. Love would wear the necklace out every day, never having a reason to be stowed away in a drawer to be one day forgotten. She needed to let me go the way she asked me to let her go—all I could hope for at this point. By sending the necklace back, the truth would be known—that all the conclusions I formed were truer than the stars above us. She didn’t have to say a word, returning the necklace would be all that needed to be said, leaving the rest up to me to find closure—I’d have no choice to.

I tried so hard to look at things from her point of view but the loneliness obscured it from my mind. All I could see and feel was the pain she left me with. After a thirty-page written apology, to post a pic of her sitting on that dirty creep's lap was my greatest nightmare come true. I wanted so bad to be the gentleman here, understanding her kids were innocently in the middle of it all. To show all the class in the world and allow her silence to continue with my own, but she handed me a life sentence for a crime I never committed. She had to have known I’d see the picture and not take it well. She told me I broke her heart by walking away from her—so how could she do this to me? She said she understood my perspective, but the picture told me she didn’t. Her words only aligned with her actions in the light of my eyes, but never in the darkness she purposefully hid in. As my mind reveled in despair, she kicked me the lower I got by posting the picture.

After being led to believe she couldn’t live a day without me, I had to know the truth about her love—allowing me the knowledge needed to make the next move in my life. As much as I questioned her love, I jumped all over anyone in defense who believed she didn’t love me. I needed to know the truth for that reason alone—to be able to accept someone’s harsh criticism. If Anya sent me back the necklace, it would devastate me, but also provide a sense of closure. She surrounded me in my home, through the alarm clock she bought me, the iPod, the music, her cards, her perfume and even her bra I kept in a dresser drawer. All bringing back moments representing the purest forms of joy and happiness I’ve ever felt, nor would likely ever feel again. I needed to know for sure those memories meant more to me than they did for her. That the items she gave me were only tools of manipulation, and not true love. To know having her heart chipped away by an emotionally abusive husband was more worthy of repair because of the money he provided her children with-- answering why I was never the solution and used only as stress relief.

While awaiting her response, songs that reminded me of her came on the radio—instantly making me regret sending the letter to her. After ten days passed without a response, it gave me hope she planned to prove me wrong—what I wanted far more than closure. I would’ve loved nothing more than for her to put me in my place about love. To call me an asshole and to tell me I knew nothing about love. There was nothing more I wanted than to be wrong about her love for me. For her to tell me there is no way I’m getting back the “thingie”--that I'd have to pry it away from her lifeless fingers if I wanted it back. The more days passed with no response, the more the hope began to build I was wrong about everything.

After taking a Vicodin to stave off the anxiety, I got on the internet to search for anything to temper the hope I began feeling—discovering some news about her son, Andrew. The same Temple that held his Bat Mitzvah, featured him and another kid in an online newsletter, an article they each wrote describing themselves. Reading Andrew's blurb just about tore me to pieces--penning about how he looked up to his sister and enjoyed his “Sunday night family dinners”. Shaken up by what I read, I reached for another Vicodin to ease the negative thoughts building within. To read something about his family made me feel the role my love for Anya played in his life—how his mother being with me, would put an end to the Sunday Night Family dinners he looked forward to. How could she have never told me about these Sunday night dinners? That by trusting and falling in love with her, that I would be taking this enjoyable time away from him? The fact she put his enjoyable Sunday night family dinners on the line should’ve brought to light how emotionally abusive Jackson was. That it was her husband’s emotional abuse, and not her love for me, that made their end a possibility. Another reason I couldn’t understand why I was the person she chose to punish, and not the man who made it possible—the man whose lap she sat on.

After reading Andrew’s words, it brought me back to when Anya left the table in tears after breaking things off with me for the first time. Were those tears meant for us, or were they for her kids? What seemed so clear at the time now left me to feel misled. I trusted her to tell me about things like the Sunday Night family dinners—to know what I was up against. Unless she lied about loving me, she was too good of a person and mother to ever betray her kids—she was punishing the wrong man here. Lust would be a betrayal of her kids, but never love.

Andrew also wrote of his dad taking him to ride his bike at the town marathon, a race his mother ran in. When he presented it as a purely family event, it destroyed me to know that fighting to be Anya’s hero, also asked me to interfere in the family outings that brought him the most joy. Taking away the unimaginative light only broke my heart even further, never wanting her to break his heart. If this is what we faced, how could she have allowed me to feel a single thing for her? I needed these details to not only know what to expect, but to also make the best decision for both of us. By allowing me to feel so much for her, knowing all this was happening, she owed it to me to find the good in leaving Jackson. I didn’t like people who criticized Anya’s parenting skills without taking into any consideration the mental toll Jackson took on her over the years. For the holier than thou to pass judgment on her without knowing what led her to me was disgusting. On one hand, it did upset me that she failed to fill me in, but on the other hand, she deserved my protection. Putting the happiness of her children in jeopardy provided the best evidence of the abuse she endured in her marriage, and I refused to let Jackson appear to be the loving husband and father, who tried desperately to save his family, while destroying the Jay Gatsby in the story. Of course, the plan was never to expose the indiscretions to his children. Although my opinion of him as a father was different, they adored him—he should be their hero. Without allowing that to be taken away from Jackson or their children, I also couldn’t allow him to paint Anya as the villain when he truly led her to feel she betrayed her kids. Jackson gave Anya no choice but to be a bad wife in order to save herself.

The next day, while trying not to let Andrew’s enjoyable Sunday night dinners wreck me emotionally, I reached out to a friend for another perspective—asking her what she thought of the family dinners. When she told me they weren’t usually great for her, it made me feel better to think Anya likely wasn’t having the time of her life on Sunday nights. Now two months from turning forty, it bummed me out to know Sunday night family dinners were something I should’ve been experiencing. Knowing how much I loved Anya, I knew they would be an impossible dream, making my current predicament more daunting. Even if she did give me the closure I needed, it would be years before I’d be ready to think about loving again. Having kids alone would be nothing but a pipe dream, giving up my own Sunday night family dinners forever by trusting in Anya’s love.

After two weeks passed by without a reply, it was hard to not feel bad about the timing of sending the letter to her. Andrew likely just had his Bat Mitzvah and she was now tied up with the holiday madness. Sure, she hurt me, but I still feared taking her away mentally away from her family duties. After losing my career job trusting in her pain and love for me, one thing was perfectly clear—there was only one person who lost all they risked. How many people believed in love enough they would risk a potential million dollar a year job for it? If the Anya I trusted with my life truly existed, I’d do it a million times over--that’s how much love meant to me. The day she decided to conspire against me with Jackson, was the first day of the last days of my life. Allowing and encouraging me to be in the middle of her perfect family life, while protecting the family name every single day, crippled me mentally and emotionally. If she planned to send the necklace back, it should include a sincere apology for what she put me through-- working overtime to maintain the perfect family image to others without telling me that mattered more to her than I did.

On December 15th, 2010, I received a notice from the post office that a package too valuable to be dropped off had arrived. Armed with that information, there was no doubt she returned the necklace—the answer I waited for, but never hoped to receive. The longer the time passed, the easier it was to hope for a letter without the necklace—explaining why she could never part with it and how wrong my words were. There was nothing else to do but remain in bed and relive the breakup once more, unable to find the strength to go to the Fed-Ex depot for pickup. Closure was the case that they gave me and Anya delivered a cold hard dose of reality—she loved me so much that she chose a philanderer over me.

I picked up the package the next morning then called in sick to sift through the wreckage of my heart and mind. I couldn’t believe, even as I lived it every day, that all I felt and shared with this person would lead to this outcome. After all the words ever said to each other, after all the times getting lost in each other—loneliness was still my destiny. To come to the realization the three best years of my life were wasted loving someone who only had the courage to love me in secrecy was too much to bear.

Deciding not to open the return envelope until I got home, my kitchen counter became its temporary home, too disheartened to reveal its contents. If she felt my love for her and her love for me, a love she led me to believe was “special” and “out of this world”, was also one that betrayed her kids, I lost all my trust in her. There would be no doubt our relationship betrayed her kids, if her husband never cheated on her or if she was just bored in her marriage. Her decision was ultimately tied into Jackson’s money—what he could provide the kids over what I could. The only irrational thing about her love was the depth of Jackson’s and my own pockets. She definitely chose him over me—the sociopathic narcissist over the pathetic empath and with his money in the mix, our love wholly betrayed her kids. Not the actions Jackson took over fifteen years of marriage that chipped so much of her heart away that it led her to approach a total stranger in a bar—completely confiding in him with everything she hid from everyone else. In the end, it wasn’t Jackson’s heart that was punished but mine for his betrayal of their family.

I noticed the sender on the package was D Point, her city’s name abbreviated so no one could ever learn where she lived if the package was returned to its sender. Once again proving how my love for her was only special if it was in secret. While the man who never allowed her to choose happiness without taking away her kids was more worthy of her respect and future loyalty. Anya was so proud of our love, a love she told me she’d never regret, she couldn’t even put her name on the envelope. She did pay for insurance in case it was lost on its way back to me, which was sweet of her, soothing a little of the anguish for the lack of sender details on the envelope.

Bringing the necklace out of its packet, I heard a jingling sound—the necklace I got her did not jingle unless she broke it into pieces before sending it back. As I laid the necklace upon my kitchen counter, around its band was a silver heart pendant—the source of the jingling sound. At first glance, it appeared she kept the necklace's original heart with the small jewels inside, replacing it with this jingling imposter, but the entire necklace remained perfectly intact. Memories of how beautiful the necklace looked across her neckline and how her spectacular smile brought out the beauty of the necklace began flooding my mind. Remembering the happiness on her face whenever she proudly showed it off to me only brought tears...no one could ever break me the way Anya’s affectionate heart could. While holding the heart pendant, I fought to remember if I had sent it to her—even searching through my journals, text messages, letters, and cards she sent me, but not once was the heart pendant ever mentioned. At this time there was no doubt she sent me a message with the necklace—if I wanted it, she sent me her heart as well. To keep; To hold; To remember her by.

Now, her response made me question whether to be upset with her or to love her more than I ever did. Her heart pendant hit me from the blind side—confusingly unexpected. Expecting to only receive a necklace and a license to try to survive, instead she threw me a Tim Wakefield knuckleball. A day that began so hopeless and dark, left me breathless with the consumption of hope. Sure, Anya sent me my heart back only because I asked her to. But, if she couldn’t hold my heart, she made sure to send me hers to hold instead. Her gesture was vintage Anya once again telling me “I love you” without saying a word. Maybe she didn’t know what it meant to fall in love with me because she didn’t know what to expect? Was it fair to question and punish her for that? All this time away, the truth never revealed itself even when it seemed to. All there was to do was get the necklace back and then I'll have my answer. And from there it would be time to move on to either life or death again. Yet how could I expect such a simple answer to such a complex equation that even Einstein himself would have trouble figuring out? My pride was not in play here—she never had to love me to be loved by me—I just did. She was a part of me, and always would be. I would always want to be with her. No matter what we went through, it was all a product of the situation. A circumstance that turned her into someone else. Without a doubt if the situation were removed from the equation, the unknown variable would be eliminated, and Anya would have the man she fell in love with—the man she needed. Initially, and desperately needing the money, the plan was to sell the necklace on E-Bay. Now there was no way in hell I could ever sell such a priceless item. Now, I wished she had only sent me the heart pendant and kept the necklace because as it stood, I remained no closer to the truth than when I asked for it.

The right thing to do was write her a short note and return the money she spent on the insurance and the mailing. I never intended for her to incur any costs never thinking she would spend over forty dollars sending it back to me. That was forty dollars she could’ve given to Katie or Andrew instead of wasting it on a broken-hearted fool like me. For her to purchase insurance was a thoughtful gesture—she could’ve easily been angry enough to mail it back in a regular envelope. Anya’s grace showed itself to me, and she handled my letter with class—a lot better than I would’ve ever handled it. Anya needed to know how hard that letter was for me to write her—to lay it all on the line like that—a real matter of life and death. Of course, I’d rather have wanted to know how she was doing, and how her kids were than accusing her of not truly ever being in love with me. A year of silence had that effect on my mind, let alone my soul. She had no idea the man she met was a fraction of the man she knew—using opiates to cope in a world without her that led him to devising ways to seek more from other unsafe sources. My truth was simply this—I no longer wanted to live in a world without her. And if I had to? Then I no longer wanted to be here. The struggle was beyond my ability to cope over the last year, and something I didn’t want to admit. With her heart pendant in my hand along with a necklace that should only be in hers, hope reigned once more along with the only love I ever wanted to know.

After receiving the necklace back, my focus shifted to building my business back up again. Money that was previously owed to me began to come in, allowing me to catch up on some past due bills—and staving off the need to sell the necklace so one day it could be returned to its rightful and only owner. To further make ends meet, I sold a few investments at a loss—the market still recessionary as my ill feelings about us began to recede as well. All this time my letter was sent to show Anya what it meant to love someone. Instead, she ended up showing me. That the beauty in her heart was still there. Taking the heart pendant with me everywhere I went, each time it jingled in my pocket or hand, it was hard not to get choked up—thinking of her feeling the need to return the necklace and how she could send me a strong message at the same time without writing a single word—wanting me to know I still held her heart. How could that not mean everything after all we’ve been through?

She sent me the heart pendant two weeks before Christmas, allowing me to feel like we were getting through the holidays together again. Wanting to write her back explaining myself would be a monster understatement—making sure she knew the letter was only written because of how deep the struggle was knowing without uncertainty we were everything love was supposed to be proud and never ashamed of. Knowing that broke me so much, I had to take pills throughout the day just to make it through each one without her in it.

Besides the obvious fact her gesture meant a lot to me, what was really behind the heart pendant? Why did she eliminate the blow entirely after sending the thingie back to me? Was it to make me feel like the worst human being on the planet after asking it back from her if she loved herself more than she loved me? If she believed our love betrayed her kids, why would she have wanted to hold onto it as a reminder? Was her sending me the heart pendant along with the thingie further evidence of her never willing to fight for me the way I fought for her? How all she had to do was send me a heart pendant without a return address to shut me up? Her love for me forever in a state of secrecy? Without sending her my letter, I would’ve never heard from her again. How could a love like ours discard someone so easily? I’d also have to consider how hard it was for her to return it to me at a busy time; the holidays. How she likely struggled with the decision she made, even seeking counsel from Debbie and Carolyn. A year of silence after talking to someone every single day for the last two years did nothing but turn me into a beggar for the truth. The Vicodin, the dark depression, the loss of needed focus, and my financial woes took its toll, leaving me with only two choices—to put an end to the daily critical chatter in my head by either jumping off the bridge or living underneath it.

One day when returning home from my consulting engagement, after another day of not getting paid for the work I did, a soiled wet mess greeted me—the roof collapsed right over my desk. After noticing it destroyed my new computer, printer and desk, about twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth in damages, I marched to the rental office to complain, but my words only fell on deaf ears—they were more concerned about the past due rent that prompted the three day notice to pay or quit given to me two days earlier. Upset but having renter’s insurance, I filed a claim the next day but they refused to cover the damages because I didn’t have a flood insurance policy with them. I argued it wasn’t a flood that caused the damage to my business office equipment, per se, a faulty roof did, but they held their ground. This only inspired me to return to the rental office to file a complaint about the management company who once again denied any responsibility. Before agreeing to sign the rental agreement, they boasted about the space being a new condo more than it was a bachelor apartment. Although it was a bachelor pad, it wasn’t much smaller than my previous one-bedroom apartment. While walking back to my apartment after another failed attempt to convince the management they had rented me a space with a bad roof, I noticed branches and weeds sprouting from dirt caked inside the gutters that ran along the sides of my roof. It was then it dawned on me—when it rained, the water had nowhere to run off to but to accumulate within the dirt inside the gutters. This ultimately trapped and retained the water on the roof until it weakened from its weight. Now that it clearly appeared the property management company was to blame for not maintaining the gutters, I took a few pictures and filed a small claim suit against the management company. I’ll never forget the look on the judge’s face when he saw the picture of a tiny tree starting to sprout from the gutters. And I’ll never forget the look on the face of the property manager who denied any responsibility when they handed me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars that saved my small consulting business. A win desperately needed.

With five hundred dollars remaining from the settlement, I did something totally out of character—I bought a bird. Not just any bird, a conure—a miniature parrot. A complete impulse buy, along with a large cage with a playground on its top, while on Vicodin. If anything, a purchase only made to fill the void Anya left in my life. He went nameless for a couple of months waiting for his personality to come through. It also took nearly that long to let him venture outside his cage—fearing he’d not only bite me but poop all over my apartment. He had to know better than to bite the hand that fed him sunflower seeds, so it was time to put my hand in there and see what he’d do. Fearlessly, he stepped on my extended finger and let me place him on the large branch on top of his cage. After bobbing his head up and down then moving up from one end of the branch to the other end a few times, even hanging upside down on it—the time came for me to leave him to his own devices and go to my room to read a book. While lying on my stomach in bed, the sound of flapping wings invaded my left ear as the bird I left just a minute ago perched itself on my shoulder. After a minute of walking on my back, he pounced on the book's open page and strutted back and forth upon it to tell me there were better things to do. He then glanced up at me, and I back at him, trying to figure each other out. When he began chirping loudly, apparently having a lot on his mind, I scolded him “This isn’t the Amazon, we have freakin’ neighbors”. After ten minutes more of shuffling about the page I hoped to read, my finger was presented to return him to his playground, so I could return to mine. Not ten seconds later after reaching my bed again, he was back on my shoulder, rubbing his green and yellow feathered head into my neck. I then repeated the same exercise, like escorting a toddler back to their room, but sure enough just seconds later, like a jet airplane, he was back on my shoulder. This went on several times, the sound of mad fluttering wings in my ear after zooming back to land on my shoulder. Getting a little irritated, I suddenly had a moment of self-realization—he felt safe being around me, and maybe even a little lonely too, like me. From that point on I named him Jett because the minute I let him out of his cage and disappeared from his sight, he was flying like a jet through my apartment until he found my shoulder--his safe space. In fact, he knew the drill—once his door was open, he had the run of the place; with not one poop to be found. After only a few more times of using my finger, I never had to coax Jett out of the cage. All to do was leave the cage's door open, and a few seconds later he'd be right next to me. Little did I know that conures were very loyal and social birds. They feared being alone and bonded with their owners, craving constant attention from them, even protecting them. Jett had every one of those conure traits, but little did I know, I needed that.

During this time, remorse filled me for asking Anya to send the necklace back only if she agreed with what I wrote. When she sent me the heart pendant though, the answer sought and received were unaligned—only wanting the necklace back if she didn’t love me, not if she did. The picture of her and Jackson together wounded me profoundly, but if the picture was kid driven, she had a pass from me. Just wished she had wrote me a note to explain the picture. Even more so, to explain the heart pendant so the wheels in my head would stop spinning so much. Even a year later, her love was the best part of me, the only part of myself I ever loved. The heart pendant brought her love back to life for me. Was the message behind it I’m not working on my marriage? Or was it sent to soften the blow for me if she was working on it? All I wanted was the cold hard truth--just the necklace without the jingling silver heart trinket. If Anya was working on her marriage, it would only shovel the dirt upon my coffin. The heart pendant with no explanation could never give me the strength enough to trust people again to make living worthwhile.

On my fortieth birthday, before visiting my parents, I took two Vicodin pills just to get through the day. In accounting, if during an inventory count, we came across any damaged goods, we wrote it off so it disappeared off the books. Taking an inventory count of my life on this day, there was nothing salvageable, my life was a complete write-off. At forty, my life felt valueless, with only the soft jingle of a heart pendant keeping me on the books of life. That heart pendant and the positive thoughts it brought with it, was all I had left. Forty years on this planet into the year two thousand eleven, and the man who drove a Mercedes had little or nothing to show for it. And really, all it took was losing the love of a lifetime to feel this way. I never realized the greatest risk I ever took in life was falling deeply in love with someone who loved me too.

Since my mother never saw the necklace, I brought it with me to show her. My parents surprised me with pizza and a cake, but only my father was there at the table when I came through the back door and into the kitchen. After thanking him, I sat down and briefly filled him in on my life without divulging too many details—mostly about finally naming my bird Jett. Thirty minutes and three pizza slices later, my mother, with no wig on, entered the kitchen, smiling.

Stolen novel; please report.

“What took you so long?” I asked her. “We almost finished the pizza.”

“Oh, I can’t eat.”

“Why not?”

My mother pulled out a chair, next to mine, turned her face towards me and opened her mouth as wide as she could. She had so many white blisters on the inside of her mouth it seemed impossible for her to swallow anything. How she was able to smile after showing me and knowing how badly she wanted a slice of pizza just to feel normal again, was an unbelievable show of strength.

“Jesus, mom.” I replied, not knowing what to say. “Have you been able to eat at all?”

“Mostly liquids.” She told me before coughing.

“Are you ok?” My father asked, concerned.

“I’m fine.” she told him, waving him off then turning to me. “I’ve been a little sick.”

"Do you have pneumonia?” I inquired.

“It’s not that or even a cold.” she explained, shaking her hairless head. “It’s from the chemo—a really strong one they had to put me on.”

“You don’t look like you’re losing any weight.” I told her, for the first time putting all jokes aside.

“I’ve lost five pounds over the last two weeks. Woo hoo!” She informed me, lifting her arms in the air. “I should be back in shape in no time!”

I met my mother’s eyes with skepticism and a guarded belief only because she promised she’d tell me if there was something I needed to know—no surprises. This was the first birthday at home she didn’t have a thing to eat, not even the frosting off the candles on the cake. A flashback to my first birthday sprang into memory—replaying that Super 8 film reel in my head when my parents, on little to no money threw me a birthday party, with friends and family thirty- nine years ago. Just the sound of the reel filled my mind, watching a home movie of my mother feeding me my first birthday cake and me twitching with excitement each time she did. The sound of the rolling reel continued while she walked around with a plate of food and ate freely, without a worry what her life would be like thirty-nine years later. I doubt she ever imagined this—unable to eat a simple slice of pizza on her son’s fortieth birthday. As the silence of the Super 8 played, the meaning of the heart pendant suddenly obstructed the memory.

After my parents sang “Happy Birthday”, they took turns ribbing me on how I cut my own cake. After they finished their jokes, we reluctantly had a piece of cake after my mother retreated back to her room. When my father finished his piece of cake, he left for the park to finish the rest of his shift. After washing the dishes, wiping down the table then placing the cake in the fridge for my father to eat later, I went to my mother's room.

“How was the cake?” she asked.

“Good—I haven’t had a piece of chocolate cake in a long time. Thanks.”

“It looked good.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have one.”

“I miss my popcorn more than anything.”

“It doesn’t hurt to talk?”

“A little, but not much.” She reassured me.

“How long do you think before your mouth starts feelin’ better?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She told me, grabbing a long back scratcher and using it on her back. “I guess when this particular round of Chemo is over in a few weeks.”

“I see.” I nodded while remembering there may be no end. “I have to show you something.”

“What is it?” She perked up, straightening her posture as she sat at the edge of the bed.

My mother smiled widely when she noticed the turquoise Tiffany pouch appearing from my pocket. After a year of despair, she knew how hard it was for me to find the strength to ask for it back—to seek the truth behind its return. Her eyes widened when I removed the necklace from its home before showing me her outreached hands.

“You have good taste in jewelry.” She claimed, as the necklace dangled from her hand.

“You think so? It took me long enough to pick it out.”

“Why’d it take you so long?”

“Because it had to be the right one for her...she already had more nicer jewelry."

“Well, I just love this necklace.” she stated, nodding her head. “How much did this cost you?”

“I’d rather not say." I told her, shaking my head. "Cost wasn’t a factor anyway.”

“Well…now that you have it back…and you know she’s not in love with you.” She said before briefly pausing then handing the necklace back to me. “You can move on with your life.”

“I wish it was that easy.” I said before handing her the next piece of jewelry. “But she sent me this too.”

“What is this? A heart pendant?”

I nodded in affirmation.

“Are you sure she wasn’t returning this back to you, too?” she asked.

“I never gave her a heart pendant.” I informed her, slightly agitated.

“Maybe it came on a gift tag or somethin’ and you forgot about it?” She questioned further.

“I remember everything I got her.” I assured her. “I’ve never gotten her anything remotely close to something like a heart pendant other than the necklace.”

“Maybe she made a mistake, thinkin’ it came from you too and returned it along with the necklace?”

A deep uneasiness ran through my veins, mangling my nerves as my mother sifted deeper into probable causes of hope—all of which I never considered. Little did my mother know the heart pendant provided the only evidence of my value in life.

“I don’t think so.” I replied, closing my eyes and shaking my head.

“What if it came from the guy she dated before you and she wanted to get rid of everything that reminded her she betrayed her kids?” She continued, unimpeded.

“I gotta be honest. I shouldn’t have come here today—I should’ve just stayed home.” I told her, taking the heart pendant back from her and putting both pieces of my own heart back into the Tiffany pouch. “I haven't been in the right frame of mind all day.”

“Why do you say that?”

“What have I accomplished in forty years? What have I really accomplished?” I tried to explain. “I’ve lived a meaningless existence—leading a life with zero value.”

Before I visited today and even though my life had nothing to show, the possible hopeful message behind the heart pendant made me feel strong enough to face the day. Now it made perfect sense why I took the pills now—to fend off the negativity from forces out of my control.

“You’ve done a lot in forty years.” She countered. “You’re only lookin’ at the things you don’t have; not the things you do.”

“What do I have to show after forty years?” I asked. “Failed relationships. Failed career. Failed business. I’ve done nothing but turn Dad into Nostradamus.”

“You have your health.”

“What good is that when I feel dead?” I quipped. “God might as well take that from me too—He’s taken everything else.”

“He gave you a life to be lived for Him, not for you.” She shot back.

“Was this the kind of life He had in mind for me? To be healthy yet feel anything but?” I recovered, throwing my hands in the air while finding a seat on her worn pink recliner. “I may not have Cancer, mom, but don’t you feel it’s tragic to be given a perfectly healthy life yet feel like I do? I don’t see the gift or the lesson.”

“Maybe we can get you some help so you can better face the day.” She advised, concern now showing on her face.

“And what? Get back on Zoloft again like I’m some sort of nutcase?” I pushed back. “Like I’m the weakest man on the planet? No thank you—I am not goin’ back there.”

“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” She replied, shaking her head. “Maybe if you would just pray…”

“Whoa. What? Pray?” I scoffed. “Since we’re on the subject, explain this hypocrisy to me about praying.”

“Hypocrisy?”

“Yeah, hypocrisy—praying is hypocritical.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because why do people who believe in God so much, want people to pray for their survival? If they truly believed in God, why would they pray to delay meeting Him?” I asked, so assuredly. “They believe in God so much, they pray they don’t meet Him? Huh? Why would they pray against meeting the entity they believe in sooo much?”

“People don’t pray for others to not die, Honey” she told me, in a somewhat mocking tone.

“Then pray tell what the hell they are praying for then?” I replied, sarcasm oozing.

“They are praying for their souls.” she explained. “that if they do die, they go to heaven.”

“Whatever.” I replied, blowing off her solid response. “All I know is that He’s given me nada—nothing—zilch. He instead gives people like Jackson Caiaphas all they want in life and then expect me to believe in Him?”

“That’s not true, Landy…He’s given you more than you know.”

“More than I know? All I know is all He’s taken from me.” I counterattacked. “To be honest, I’ve never felt more removed from God than I am now.”

“Honey, that’s not true…we all feel removed from God sometimes…feel like He’s abandoned us at times, but He’s always there.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” I sneered. “So, keep feedin’ me what you think Anya did with the heart pendant. Go ahead and take away the only thing getting me through the days.”

“I’m sorry, Honey.” she replied, meekly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Did you consider maybe she wanted to be with me without worrying about having kids around and she wanted me to hold her heart until it was the right time for us?” I told her, selfishly, unable to keep my emotions in check. “Did you consider anything positive about the heart pendant at all?”

“I think the chemo and all the drugs I’m on are affecting my mood.” She replied, sincerity in her voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I hated to argue with the only woman who never hurt me in this life, but she overwhelmed me with negativity. She knew more than most that health was wealth yet my mind left me blinded—never believing a broken heart could kill like a loaded gun. Now, at forty years of age, a tiny silver heart pendant became my breathing tube. My mother made one thing perfectly clear—I had to go back to Anya to seek the truth, and perhaps, redemption in some shape or form. The real meaning behind the heart pendant—a fact not needed until after my visit. Was it a continuation of Anya living in a fantasy while I writhed in reality? Was it something Lance gave her and she thought it came from me? Was it attached to a gift I had forgotten I gave her? Or was it a symbol of hope?

“It’s ok, Mom.” I said, standing up from the recliner, walking over to her then kissing the top of her head. “I haven’t been sleeping much. Thanks for the birthday party.”

My parents were even kind enough to gift me a one-hundred-dollar gift card to Nordstrom’s before leaving the house that day—their forty-year-old failure of a son. On the drive home, I recalled all the times my mother would send me a card on Valentine’s Day before meeting Anya. As nice as the gesture was, it drug me further into an often lonely existence. I’m sure all I’ve gone through with my break-up with Anya, hurt her as well. A mother shouldn’t have to worry about people loving and respecting their children—especially at a time she had more important things to worry about. My emotions needed to be in check around my mother and keep my thoughts about Anya and I to myself. Negativity from those who care about me should be expected at this point—something important to understand knowing my defense mechanisms would kick into high gear. Now though, I need to know what I was defending. The only chance of getting well was to go the source—the well of my love and pain, one last time. Even if Anya admits to have made a mistake and there was no meaning behind the heart pendant, it would help me. A person who couldn’t even eat a piece of my birthday cake didn’t need any of my grief.

Even as my mother tried to impale my beliefs, my hope in the heart pendant remained. If Anya did inadvertently include it thinking it came from me, it’s important to know because the necklace was the only thing asked for. If sending the heart pendant was her way of saying her heart was with me, knowing full well how I read into things, then clarification from her was a fair request. Given she posted a picture of her and Jackson for the whole world to see after all she allowed and encouraged me to fight for, risk and eventually lose portrayed a monster betrayal—turning the necklace from a symbol of love to a reminder of the betrayal of her children. To seek some sort of closure, if only in the form of the most painful truth after losing all I did in the end, was not too much to ask for. All she had to do was only send me back the necklace to answer me. Now, after sending me the heart pendant, she dodged the questions. If Anya truly wanted me to move on, to truly let go and remove myself from her life, then the necklace should’ve arrived without company. Now, she owed me the truth behind the heart pendant.

While others basked in the joy and gratitude of forty years of life, on the night of my birthday, it was time to write Anya one more letter seeking answers she left blank.

Dearest Anya,

Hey it’s me again. Hiya. This letter shouldn’t surprise you since I’ve always been known to not keep my promises. I apologize for my last letter if you were hurt by it—I’ll concede there are different forms of love. It wasn’t fair to accuse you of not being truly in love with me. I just felt I was led to believe it was true love and special so I never saw the shame in our love because of his betrayals. I was upset because I felt things were said that gave me the impression, we shared the same idea of love for each other. I’m now taking a step back again, and I think you’re right—I have a lot of anger in me and I need to learn to be more compassionate. It just seems every time I break down my wall and let someone in, I end up disappointed and more upset than before.

Asking for the necklace back wasn’t fair and must’ve hurt you in ways I’ll never know. I’ve had a string of bad luck over the last month—it feels like I’m being punished for something. Did you make a Landyn voodoo doll? Do you think you can take the pin out of my stomach? J

I know I’ve hurt you over and over, but I’m just not over you. The pain is nothing like it was but there are times when I’m still so affected—it’s nothing I’ve ever experienced and I don’t know how to handle it. Just know it hurts to live my life without you. The thing that hurt me was that you never knew. That’s been a really hard pill to swallow for me, and I apologize for that.

Can you please do me one favor? Can you please give me some clarity about the heart pendant you gave me? Would it be crazy to ask if you could please explain the meaning behind it for me? I understand you can’t write me back so on each Saturday and Sunday for the next two weekends I will be at our old tea time hang out on Springdale from 11-2. If the heart pendant has any meaning at all, would you please come meet me there? If the heart pendant was just meant to be a keepsake, then please don’t show, I’ll understand it was either sent to me by mistake or it was only sent out of guilt. If those days and times don’t work for you, please let me know and I will meet you at a better day and time for you. I have a very flexible schedule these days.

I hope you’re doing well.

Love always,

Me

After writing the letter, my printer remained silent—not ready to mail it. When the heart pendant arrived with the returned necklace, it gave me hope maybe we could get back to the start—to find it again, to make it right. My mother raised some good scenarios my mind wouldn’t allow me to deny. My greatest struggle was believing I was only worthy of her love in secret and without reaching out to know it’s true meaning, her love would again leave me in limbo hoping for a future that may never come. Anya needed to be proud of me and our love, not ashamed of it. Further, if she looked upon it as a betrayal of her kids, then the infidelities were never enough to leave her husband for. What did I ever do to her to deserve to be nothing but a secret after all she allowed and encouraged me to feel? Sure, there were times she tried to let me go and to her credit that was partially noble of her. The problem was she had already allowed me to fall deeply in love with her and her pulling away felt like purposeful abandonment at that point. If all she shared with me about him was true, she should’ve left her husband in the dust, not me.

The more I tried to make sense of something that she needed to make sense of for me, the more blurrry hope and hopelessness became. I never asked Anya to be with me and leave her children behind—it was always me and the kids. My only request was for her to leave Jackson—he never brought out the best in her in over fifteen years of marriage. Unless there were things she never made me privy to out of fear of hurting me, things she left me to deduce, then I would never understand why she could never promise to leave one day. The fact she couldn’t make that promise made me feel used no matter how many times she tried to let me go. And each and every time Anya did, she struggled—telling me the life she tried to pull herself into was the wrong one, regardless of her kids. For Anya to view her love for me as betraying her kids after all she allowed and encouraged me to feel, was no less than cold blooded murder to a heart like mine. If she truly wanted me to let her go, then she should have no problem telling me the truth. Was I right or was I wrong? And if so, what were the reasons specifically? If his betrayals were never an issue because he was a good provider and father, then why wasn't she up front about it when we met? Instead, she waited until I feel deeply in love with her then felt guilt--something her pain and anger wouldn't allow herself to stop from doing. That’s what upset me more than anything—the things she needed to tell me before I fell--the things she never did. The things that led me to ultimately ask for the "thingie" back from her.

What form of love did the heart pendant represent? What did it mean? Did it mean there was still a chance for us? Or did it mean since we’ll never be together, know my heart will always be with you? Did it mean she saw my side of things and reconsidered her role that led to our end? If death touched me tomorrow, how could the one who loves me be too ashamed to be there? She wouldn’t be by my bedside—she wouldn’t even know about my funeral. How could she share the lives of her kids with me, even invite me to her daughter’s recital yet be so ashamed of me? Be so not willing to vouch for me? Be so not willing to face anything anymore? To leave the man she would rather die than never have in her life feel like his only purpose was to break up her family and to hurt her kids—even after all she ever told me and all we ever shared. It wasn’t the fact she wasn’t ready to tell them—that much was understood. It was the fact she never could—trusting in all the things she told me from the start, and not all the things she chose to omit.

In essence, while treating her like no other girl, she treated me as if I were her husband—who would be happier with sex over a commitment. She spent two years trying to figure out if I was for real, and after learning just that, she only found more ways to sit on the fence or get off it altogether--either accept her form of love or be denied the sun. When I saw that posted pic of her and Jackson, it tore me from the inside out, taking my belief in her love to one so unsightly that putting it all on the line had to be done. Anya seemed to be influenced by those around her who told her what she should do--people she never shared the full story with rather than trusting all the things she confided in me with. In the end, my words of love and encouragement meant nothing. Through the heart pendant, here I was again—accepting love on terms of her own. Again, she blew me off after pointing out to her that love was on the terms of two people, not one. Anya’s love was the same as a lion’s for its human companion—awe inspiring until its food source was taken away giving them no other option but to run for their life. Shouldn’t there only be one form of love in our situation? I did love her in any shape or form, but that was when I trusted she would never abandon me. There was no way I could let her go without telling me the meaning behind the heart pendant—its true purpose.

What if she told Jackson she was never in love with me but had a hard time hiding the fact she was from him? What if he sensed it then decided to secretly create a fake Facebook account in her name in order to get me to respond to it? A way to obtain information from me that she refused to give? All I ever wanted Jackson to know was that she loved me—that he had a decision to make. It worried me Anya likely believed I wanted to tell him a lot more but that was never true. Sure, I was angry and wanted him to suffer the way she had, but to share our sexual exploits was juvenile—we were never about that. Why continue to stay married to a woman who loved another man? It just made zero sense even for the kids—teaching them all the wrong things about love and respect in any kind of relationship. Was it truly cheaper to keep her when the cost is your sanity? Did Anya send me the heart pendant to let me know, no matter what was posted on the fake profile, that her heart was with me regardless of what I believed about her love? I never asked her for the necklace back because my heart could never be with her—I asked for its return only if my thoughts made sense that her heart was never truly with me. If all the negative scenarios in my head were feasible, didn’t the positive scenarios have the same probability of truth? What Jackson wanted her to believe could never be true—Anya never betrayed her kids. No woman, in Anya’s situation, could ever betray her kids by loving someone who truly cared about and respected her—she was no one’s servant.

If Anya left Jackson, she would teach her kids truly valuable lessons. She would teach them to marry for love—not for money. To marry their best friend. To live an honest life. To not be afraid of change—it equals opportunity. To pursue happiness in life over sadness for a life time. To not let other influence the decisions only you’re knowledgeable to make—by staying and pretending, real damage is being done. She’d acknowledge her kids were smarter than she gave them credit for. They will eventually learn the truth one day—if they didn’t already know. It was important for Anya to be true to herself so she could be true to all those around her. She would only eventually learn who her real friends were—the ones worthy of keeping. Her true friends would emerge and the pretenders would fall to the wayside. She needed to teach her kids to have respect for themselves. To not be bullied by others, especially by those who claimed to love them and promised they would forever do so—to hold people accountable for their abusive behavior. Most important of all, leaving Jackson would tell her children they are never trapped in life by a bad decision they've made. That there is always a way out of it—if it’s truly needed. For them to always trust their inner feelings—they are the facts that light the way to truth.

I could never covey this in the letter, but it’s how I felt—her kids would benefit in the long-run if she left Jackson. Anya needed to look past the pain the short-run would bring because a much bigger and brighter picture laid on the horizon for them. Love was always a fair teacher and life would be fair as well. If this was anything less than love, if the meaning behind the heart pendant wasn’t “I love you and believe in us” then feeling this strongly about her teaching them these things in life wouldn’t matter. Even without me though, she should be brave enough to teach them these most valuable lessons. If the heart pendant truly had meaning, and wasn’t included by mistake, she had more than enough reasons to be brave enough to leave him.

I finished the follow-up letter on March 23rd, 2011—and was all “lettered out” at this point. I just needed to know what I was holding on to—just steer me in the right direction. If she wrote me back and revealed how she still held onto us—I’d send the necklace back to her and hold onto the heart pendant until she came home. I wouldn’t have wanted hope taken from me if it still existed, but she needed to see not what Jackson and society wanted her to believe—that she betrayed her kids by loving a man who honored and respected her. That it’s not an act of betraying your children when she fell for a man who truly worshipped the ground she walked on. I wanted her for her—not what she could give me. She was the absolute love of my life—not some tool used to build a business and brand. My love stood for something beyond everything—as real as real got. After all the heartache and accusations, the heart pendant told me she still meant the world to me. If her world was more perfect without me, then I needed to know because the heart pendant gave me hope that it wasn’t. Only the situation darkened her inner beauty, as it did mine, but the heart pendant kept her beauty intact. That silly heart pendant felt like winning the lottery—it gave me life again and the desire to continue believing in the goodness of it all. That my life had a real purpose beyond survival. If a man wasn’t successful in love, he failed at life—a man’s true measure of his worth on earth. I simply needed to know if I failed at life or if I truly earned my worth—the meaning behind the heart pendant held the answer to it all.

I mailed the letter five days later—asking her to meet me on either Sunday April 17th or May 1st between the times of 11 and 2, which gave her three weeks to think about it. As badly as this needed to be done in person, I gave her an out if she couldn’t make either of those days. Anya knew I’d read into the heart pendant, so it was only fair for her to clarify its meaning. If I was wrong in the letter about her form of love, then tell me so—let me have it. This wasn’t about being right but making sense out of her love for me. There were no winners here, only losers. It’s been a year and I’ve struggled to move on—I needed clarification as much as closure. Did she love me or was I the greatest fool that ever walked the planet? The heart pendant made me feel like a dead man who didn’t know he was dead—a ghost among the living. Anya needed to send me back home and the heart pendant unfortunately kept me in limbo. She left me mementos before and that’s the last thing I wanted the heart pendant to represent—something to remember her by as if I’d ever forget. This was a forty year old man she was in a serious relationship with, not an eighteen year old boy trying to figure out something I knew from day one. If the heart pendant had no meaning, a mistake, then I’d hope she send me a detailed apology for confusing me. I took enough of the blame for her allowing and encouraging me to feel so much for her without any concrete intentions to be honest with those around her. She had to admit her faults and I could totally forgive her for them even if she still felt she betrayed her kids—although I’ll never believe she did unless she wasn’t honest about her feelings for me and Jackson. A sincere apology would allow me closure along with the strength needed to take the next steps in my life. If her plan was to work on her marriage, and give the philandering politician another chance for the sake of the kids, then sending a heart pendant to me didn’t mean anything. If it was sent out of guilt for what she put me through, no thank you. It doesn’t matter if she had me “in her heart” because she couldn’t be in my arms. Love was courageous because its right and just. If she couldn’t recognize love was at least that much, then apologize to me, don’t fight me on it. Love made stands and proudly promised to shout from the rooftops one day. The heart pendant had to say “let’s find a way” and not “don’t forget me.”.

More than anything, the heart pendant couldn’t mean she felt bad. If that’s the case, just send back the necklace and call it a lifetime. Otherwise, the pendant of hope was only an extension of playing with my heart—to give me false hope. Why allow me to feel this deeply for you for nothing? How could everything I put into this relationship, that came at great personal risk and actual loss all be for not? Anya never lost what she hadn’t already lost before we began our relationship. She left my life in shambles while hers went on without a hitch. Again, she never told me she was still there because of her kids—I had to learn after she allowed and encouraged me to fall in love with her. If she didn’t clarify why she sent me the heart pendant then there could be nothing more unfair in life considering all I’ve lost trusting her.

On the morning of April 17th, hope overcame nervousness on my drive to meet her at the “Good Morning Café”, our old tea spot. I took the necklace with me, hopefully to give it back to her. Sure, I could use the money and put it up on E-Bay, but parting with it would bring too much finality to bear. Holding it in my hand brought me back to the times we had fun just talking about it and of course, I could still see it on her breast line smiling up at me with happiness. Those memories also captured my feelings about the silver jingling heart pendant she gave me. It meant a lot, but I just needed to know exactly what it meant, to shut up the naysayers as much as myself. As much as I struggled to understand her love, it disgusted me when others were judgmental of Anya—no one more than Theresa who didn’t even know her. Then again, it was my fault for sharing my life with people. No one knew more than I did how much her kids meant to her, and I told everyone that was the real reason why we weren’t together. Yet it felt they still criticized her for being a “bad” mother. How is loving someone who respects and honors you after being married to a man who never did being a bad mother? It shouldn’t have taken me being in Anya’s life for Jackson to wake up. Jackson walked the earth like he never hurt her a day in his life yet she isn’t she allowed to feel truly loved by someone? How am I the villain in this story? The man who honors and respects Anya is the evil one? I didn’t want Anya on her death bed steeped in regret and fighting cancer one day too—like my own mother. Although Anya lived a healthy lifestyle, constant stress is no good for the healthiest people. My mother unable to enjoy a simple slice of pizza because her mouth was full of cold sores from chemo drove my quest to keep the dream alive. I knew what was best for Anya because I’ve seen the worst—she even shared it with me. Her own words “I hate my life” and “my anger will never be resolved” will always remain branded in me. If the heart pendant was sent with love, she deserved it for the rest of her days.

Wanting her to see me the minute she parked, I arrived fifteen minutes early, planting myself in one of the patio chairs in front of the cafe. With a blue sky and all its possibilities above me, my new Nook purchase came to good use burying my nose in Mitch Albom’s “One Day”. Reading usually made me calm, but my mind raced unable to fully concentrate on the story. After fifteen minutes went by of unfruitful reading, my focus shifted to all the times we met up here, usually between eleven in the morning and two in the afternoon. The excitement was palpable knowing the chance existed to see her again, clearing the air about the heart pendant and the possibility of a reconciliation. The universe must have anticipated her visit too—the air was comfortably warm and as clean as if it rained just yesterday.

When the third hour arrived at fifteen minutes to two, fear kept me within my seat—afraid to lose it before she arrived. Several people walked past me and inside the café—and not a familiar face among them. Not Dave, Paul, Theresa or even Barwin, but they were weekday warriors at the café, not weekend. When the clock struck two, I removed the necklace from my pocket and then its pouch, allowing the sun to beautify it for a few seconds. Of course, it wasn’t fair to the sun—far from dazzling without it gracing her neckline—this day wouldn’t be the day to see her. Although disappointed, May 1st was only two weeks away—after eighteen months that was nothing. Shutting down my Nook, I then succumbed to the hands of the clock and left the patio with another two weeks to hope and wait for.

It was hard to not ignore my request made in the letter—if the heart pendant was just a keepsake, then please don’t show. It was even more difficult to know it may be the reason for not meeting me. Two weeks remained however, but if she didn’t show on May 1st, then why in the world did she send me something she knew I’d read into? All she had to do was receive my letter to know how weak I was. It took a lot of courage to ask for my necklace back. To tell her to send it back and never look back if our love betrayed her kids and if her love for me only existed because it was on her terms. Although the heart pendant communicated with my heart, only my mind could translate the true message behind it. Talking face to face to answer questions burning within could only help at this point—needing to see the sincerity in her eyes when she spoke. After all we shared, how could her marriage have remained an option for her? I trusted her to at least know love didn’t share herself with another man—she had to change that dynamic if she truly loved me otherwise how could she tell me she did? Even worse, send me a heart pendant?

Feeling lost, I jumped online to see if maybe she left me some kind of signal through her FB account. Sure enough she did—a new profile picture of the entire family together. One that seemed to be taken at her son’s bat mitzvah. Andrew stood in the front, smiling happily in a nice suit with his sister Katie behind him flashing a smile as big as his. Jackson, in a dark suit, stood behind his daughter with joy and pride emanating from his countenance. On the complete opposite side of Jackson was Anya, clutching onto Andrew’s left shoulder, wearing a proud smile as well. The perfection in the family picture, façade less, made my heart sink into my bowels. It was if they were all telling me, this is what you sought to destroy. It wasn’t posted to hurt me, but now, anything like that would. Imagining her friends, family and co-workers viewing the pic, with no knowledge of the turmoil their union caused in the lives of others, flared up every nerve ending in my body. After all I did for her—that was another reward received. That by wanting Anya to follow her heart, to all those people who loved that picture, I was the villain. If Anya believed she betrayed her kids, she undoubtedly also felt she betrayed her co-workers and friends—like I ever had a chance from the beginning. Only allowed to be in her life to love her but to never be with the one I loved—where my feeling of being betrayed resided. I knew she tried to let me go, but she already allowed and encouraged me to feel enormous feelings for her when she did—just wasn’t right. I hoped talking to her face to face about the heart pendant would shed enough light on why she did me that way—to allow me to let go of the resentment I held if the heart pendant meant nothing.

When I got over the initial reaction to the photograph, my eyes zoned in on Anya—something just wasn’t right about her posture. It almost looked like she had to lean on Andrew in the picture—did she hurt her ankle again running? Focusing in a little deeper, her left arm appeared abnormal, seemingly swollen in two different spots on her forearm near the wrist. Was she in some kind of accident? My mind started to race about centering on her jealous husband—did he harm her physically? Anya did tell me Jackson wasn’t violent, but she’d lie to me if she had to knowing it would inspire me to confront him—or maybe that was just something my heart wanted to believe to justify further reasons for leaving him. Taking the more cautious rational view, it seemed more likely she was involved in a traffic accident. Especially considering all the times she drove the kids around in hazardous conditions to and from their weeknight activities. She revealed her complaints to me about how she felt unsafe at times so she wouldn’t be the nagging wife at home—like she wasn’t the nagging girlfriend when her and Jackson were dating before their marriage. If she had been in a car wreck, I’d feel a bit responsible for it because it would’ve never happened if we were together.

The picture suggested the reason she didn’t meet me at the coffee shop—she was in a tremendous amount of pain and recovering. She smiled through it in the picture but the bumps on her arms looked extremely painful and were evident if you focused on her. She looked to be bent over as if her back ached her and even the lovely dress she wore seemed a size too large—hanging loosely upon her shoulders. As upset as I was with Anya at times, the last thing I ever wanted was for her to be in physical pain. Her fraility both saddened and angered me knowing I wasn’t there for her.

If Anya knew I checked out her profile pics from time to time, she may have put this picture up to tell me why she never showed. Now, it was less about the heart pendant and more about what happened and how she was doing—there was one more letter left to write.