Jesus Christ. I make a mental note to complain to my parents about having so many children.

Standing from the couch, I stumble over toward the door and fling it open. Brig stands on the other side, mail in hand and a disgusted look on his face.

“Dude, you look sickly.”

I snatch the mail from his hand and then slam the door shut.

He knocks lightly. “Might want to take a shower; that smell you’re carrying is putrid.”

“Fuck off, Brig.”

I fall back on the couch and toss the mail on the coffee table in front of me. Slouching into the cushions, I’m finishing the rest of my beer when a small light-blue envelope catches my eye.

I’ve seen that envelope before. Many times. It’s the same blue envelope that’s brought back my past in full force, piercing my heart with a deathly reminder of what I’ve lost.

Leaning forward, I scatter the rest of the mail to the side and pick up the recognizable envelope, flipping it between my fingers.

Familiar handwriting, a comforting script.

A well-known address I’ve spent many nights at.

A desperation to reach out to me that comes like clockwork every month.

Ren’s parting words to me ring through my head. After what I’ve been through, I had the courage to try something new, to open my soul to you and give you everything I have.

She had the courage to move across the country; where the hell is mine?

It was stolen away from me the minute I lost Claire.

I turned from the confident, easygoing man I once was into a cautious worrier, someone who isn’t truly living but just going through the motions, never experiencing anything, just breathing.

But when Ren came along, my life changed. I saw a glimpse of what it could be, of the happiness I could achieve. And yet I took it all away from myself.

Well, guess what, Griffin? You’re hurting me right now, and the pain is way worse than any two-by-four.

The pain is debilitating.

Suffocating.

The fear consumes me; it’s eating me alive.

I flip the card over in my hand and slip my finger under the flap, making a small tear in the seal. The sound of the paper ripping open makes me feel like my heart is tearing open at the same time.

Maybe it’s because I’m drunk, or maybe it’s because I’m desperate for any sense of comfort from this blinding pain I’m suffering from, but I find my finger working its way all the way through the seal, popping the envelope open.

I set my beer bottle down and slip the card out of the envelope. White and plain, nothing but a W on the front. Having never once opened one of Kathy’s letters, I have no idea what might be inside. Stupidity and curiosity collide, forcing me to open the card.

There isn’t much written inside, just one sentence followed by her signature.

Please call me, Griffin.—Kathy.

The comfort of the couch cushion surrounds me as I lean back, contemplating my next move.

Call me. It’s a simple request, one I’m sure she’s asked many times. One I’m sure she’s desperate for me to fulfill.

And because I’m an emotional and erratic asshole right now, I pick up my phone and type out a text.

Griffin: Hey, Kathy. It’s Griffin. Are you free tomorrow?

I toss my phone to the other side of my couch and close my eyes, allowing the tears that rise to the brim of my eyelids to fall down my cheeks.

It’s time.

I knock on the door in front of me, a wave of nerves trying to propel my body in the other direction.

Flee. Flee right now, my heart screams at me, but my brain tells my feet to stay put. If anything, I owe it to Kathy to be here.

The sound of footsteps nearing the door skyrockets my nerves into panic mode, and just before I’m about to bolt, the door swings open, and an older version of the woman I used to know appears, still wearing her typical turtlenecks and sweaters. Her face is weathered, her hair gray; I wonder just how many years were taken off her life by the loss of her daughter.

“Griffin,” she says on a surprised sigh, “I’m so happy you’re here. Please, come in.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I take a step into her modest house, decorated in mauve and light-blue tones. She pulls me into a gentle hug before letting me go to shut the door.

Immediately my eyes fall on a picture of Claire on our wedding day. Her head thrown back, a smile on her face, it’s a candid shot, one I’ve cherished just like Kathy. It’s the kind of smile that reflects the beauty of her soul. Claire was always so happy and carefree; it was hard not to be in a good mood around her.

“Please, take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water,” I croak out, my throat dry all of a sudden. “Water would be great, thank you.”

She pats my hand and then makes her way to the kitchen, where I hear her fill up two water glasses. She returns in no time, not giving me much of a chance to look around, not that I really want to. The memories hurt too much. Hell, being here, in the familiar scent of the environment Claire grew up in, just about breaks my heart into a million unfixable pieces.

Kathy takes a seat and cuts straight to the chase. “Did you ever read any of my letters before yesterday?”

That would be a negative.

I left her phone calls unanswered and her letters unread. Her invitation to visit never was accepted. I blocked this woman out of my life, too ashamed to show my face around her.

Feeling nervous and embarrassed, I shake my head.

She nods. “So you didn’t answer my phone calls or read my letters.”

“Kathy.” I let out a heavy breath. “I wasn’t in a good place. I felt—”

“Like you were the reason why my daughter died, right?”

Mouth agape, I sit there, shocked. Fuck, the last thing I would have wanted was for Kathy to hear about the trip to New Orleans.

“You don’t have to answer. I know that’s what you think.” She sets her water down on the coffee table. “You might not have talked to me, but I’ve stayed in touch with your mom and sister. And I’m going to be frank with you. You’re an idiot.”

Uh, this isn’t the sweet and kind Kathy I know. Then again, ignoring someone for over two years could possibly irritate them.

“You know I love you, Griffin. You’re like the son I never had. So that’s how I’m going to treat you now, by giving you a bit of a lecture.” She clears her throat. “After Claire passed, I had the doctors and the coroner search for the reason she was taken away from us so young. You were lost in your own grief, but I needed a reason. If you had read the letters or answered the phone calls or listened to the voice mails from the doctors, you would have found out quickly that Claire’s heart attack was unavoidable.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens as I struggle to comprehend what she’s saying.

“I knew you were carrying Claire’s death heavily on your shoulders, so I dug deep, not only for you but for my peace of mind.” She takes a deep breath. “Claire had thick blood, a condition called hypercoagulability, and we were never aware of it. The healthiest people can have very thick blood, which can cause an onslaught of issues. In Claire’s case, it formed a blood clot in her heart and caused her heart attack. Even if you had been there to give her CPR, she wouldn’t have made it. There was nothing anyone could have done. Losing Claire was inevitable, Griffin. This curse you believe in, this black magic you think dictates your life—it’s all in your head. For Claire, the timing was unfortunate, but no matter what, even if you’d never run into that palm reader, Claire would have passed. This is not on you.”

Tears well up in my eyes, and for a moment, I swear I feel someone behind me, as if Claire is there, encouraging me to accept this. I miss her so goddamn much, but it’s time. The clouds above me start to part, realization hitting me square in the chest.

“The only curse I see is you not living your life to the fullest, and that’s a shame. You’re a good man with so much to offer. I would hate to see you walk away from someone who brings you joy for the first time in years.”

I press my palms to my eyes, my emotions getting the best of me. “It was an unavoidable blood clot?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Kathy’s voice softens. “There is nothing you could have done, nothing anyone could have done, for that matter. Please stop blaming yourself for something you had nothing to do with.”

Fuck, this is hard to process.

For so long, I’ve taken the blame; I’ve shouldered the responsibility of losing Claire. I ignored her mom; I ignored the doctors. I shut off that side of my life, convinced I was to blame.

But Ren was right; the only curse I’m facing is self-sabotage, letting it take over every aspect of my life and cutting myself off from one of the greatest things I’ve ever experienced: Ren’s love.

It isn’t until your mind has matured that the weight of this curse will forever be cured.

Shit.

Not taking the blame, letting go of the responsibility for Claire’s death—that’s where my mind matures. That’s where I can start living again.