Chapter 7: This is Your Chance, Jacob

On Thursday, nervous the whole day, Melanie finally pulled out her phone to check her email in the parking lot after work. Relieved, she saw that Jacob’s message was there for her.

Once again, she brought Amy to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal and their interior playground to blow off some energy and get her to bed early.

Last time for this restaurant, that meal might be called happy but it sure ain’t healthy.

In the mailbox with the card, an ordinary chocolate Twix, with their names carefully lettered on each side. Jacob had correctly guessed that Amy could already recognize her own name, so she was thrilled.

Just chocolate. Good. At least he is still paying attention.

Later, with Amy tucked in to her bed, her tea brewed, laptop booted up, Melanie was ready.

To: fourscars@beltwest.net
From: chary974@proton.me
Subject: A Better Man

Thursday, January 22, 2023

To start, I ask, no, I beg for your forgiveness. I am not so oblivious that I didn’t worry about your reaction when I secretly paid Amy’s daycare fees. But I was so caught up in my imagination of you and your being grateful (I hoped), that I just ran past any reasonable considerations.

It was a dick move. It was manipulative. You have it exactly right. I am ashamed. And I could have, should have, ASKED you, if you needed and wanted help. From a source you could feel confident in.

And then there was fixing your car, which just aggravated all those bad feelings.

I guess we have agreed, though, that your tires was an emergency situation where Amy’s safety was paramount. So we can let that go, I hope.

The small things in your mailbox, like the lollipops and the movie tickets, I would like to continue. But I will stop them if you wish it.

Further, I swear to you, I will instantly stop anything I might do in the future that makes you at all uncomfortable. All you have to do is tell me.

And soon, I promise, we will be face to face to make that easier. Until then, no more surprises.

Until we are face-to-face, please, please, accept my complete, sincere, regretful, repentful apology.

In written form, I can imagine this is all sounding ridiculous, my tone is over-the-top. I know. It is because I am actually, literally crying at my keyboard. (Shit. Even that sounds crazy.)

And my horrible shyness has prevented the normal talking we should been having, by now.

I was so afraid, am so afraid, that I have blown it with you. I was tearful all of Tuesday thinking about and re-reading your “wait until Thursday” message. I’m tearful again now, trying to type this out to you.