I know I shouldn’t be writing this, she wrote. I know it’s strange. But I don’t have anyone else to talk to. Curtis looked at me this morning like he didn’t even know who I was. And I thought about Raymond. About how he looks at you. I don’t know if you even notice it anymore. But he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.
I had noticed. I had always noticed.
The third letter was dated February 14, 1981. Marcus was six months old. Gloria had been divorced for a year.
I think I’m in love with him, she wrote. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to do anything about it. He’s your husband. He’s the father of your child. But I can’t stop thinking about him. And I hate myself for it.
I put the letter down. I walked away from the kitchen counter. I stood at the window and watched the neighbor’s dog run across their yard.
Then I went back and kept reading.
The fourth letter was dated June 22, 1984. Renee was a toddler. Raymond had just gotten a promotion. Gloria had started dating someone new, a man named Derrick who sold office supplies.
I told him, she wrote. I told Derrick about Raymond. Not everything. But enough. He asked me if I was still in love with him. I said no. I don’t know if that was true. I don’t know anything anymore.
The fifth letter was dated September 9, 1987. Gloria and Derrick had broken up. She was living alone for the first time in her life.
I think about him less now, she wrote. Not never. But less. Is that terrible? That the best I can say is that I think about him less?
The sixth letter was dated March 2, 1992. Marcus was eleven. Renee was eight. Raymond and I had just celebrated our thirteenth anniversary.
I saw him today, she wrote. At the grocery store. He was buying milk and cereal. The ordinary things. He looked tired. He looked good. He asked how I was doing and I lied and said fine. I have been lying to you for thirteen years. I don’t know how to stop.
The seventh letter was dated November 18, 1996. Gloria’s mother had died three weeks earlier. I had been at the funeral. I had held Gloria’s hand.
Thank you for being there, she wrote. Thank you for everything. I don’t deserve you. I have never deserved you. But you keep showing up anyway. Why do you keep showing up?
I remembered holding Gloria’s hand at her mother’s funeral. I remembered thinking that this was what friendship was for. That this was why we had standing Tuesday dinners and keys to each other’s houses. That this was why we had chosen each other.
I had no idea she was writing letters to my husband.
The eighth letter was dated April 7, 2001. The new century. The kids were grown. Marcus was in college. Renee was finishing high school.
