Louisa picked up her pen, only to set it down again. She bit down on her lower lip and looked at the window. But she didn’t look at anything.
She picked up the pen again and gave it a try.
“My dear…” She frowned and scratched it out. “My darling….” She scratched that salutation out too.
She frowned at the scratched out lines.
Her frown lifted in surprise. The black scribbles reminded her of his signature.
She crinkled up the page and threw it to the other side of the room.
Louisa tried again.
They told me that I need to do this. It will help me heal. It will give me solace. It will be therapeutic. They say a lot of things like that.
But really? I don’t need solace or healing or therapy. That isn’t what I need. I don’t want to need it.
What do I need?”
She raised her head and looked at nothing. She rose from her seat and stretched. She walked to the window.
She rested her hands on the cool fake-marble window sill. “What do I need? What does it mean to need something?”
Her hand curled around the man’s ring hanging on her necklace. “How do you know if you need it? Is it when it’s taken away?” The ring felt warm against her skin. “Is it when you know you can never regain it? When you know it’s gone and gone for good? Is that when you know? Is that how you know?”
She returned to her seat. “So, what do I need?” She picked up her pen and let go of the ring. She wrote,
“Alex. I know what I need. I know what I really need. More than anything else, Alex.”
She blinked. Tears hit the paper.
“Alex, I just need you.”