Letters to my Ex

11

      Gabriella Sarmiento Wilson
Nashville, Tennessee
7:42pm

i've made it safely to my bedroom.

the letter, still in my hand, is bent now from how tightly i held onto it.

i go to the desk and pull the folded paper out of the white envelope.

i read it to myself one more time.

oh, reid. i wish i could just talk to you. there's so much to say

i go into my drawer and pull out a fresh piece of paper and a pen.

i take a deep breath, and then i start to write.

i am entirely lost in writing that i don't hear the footsteps coming up the stairs.

suddenly, the bedroom door swings open.

"what are you doing up here?"

oh shoot. he caught me. i have to come up with something quick

"i was just um—doing some journaling"

brian looks at me with suspicion.

"since when do you journal?"

"since recently. i heard it's good to clear your mind before bed"

i entirely make this up on the spot, but even i think it's pretty believable.

brian looks somewhat convinced but still has some reservations about him.

"what are you doing?"

"i just came upstairs to change. i wanted to get into some comfort clothes for the game"

"oh, right. of course"

brian walks into the closet and starts to unbutton his shirt.

i take this opportunity to shove reid's letter back in the desk drawer.

i pick up my pen and begin writing my letter, but it doesn't feel right with brian here.

i glance over at the closet door, which is open and see my husband half-naked.

stop looking, gabriella. you can't stare at your husband while he changes and write your ex-boyfriend a letter simultaneously