Chapter 6 - Natalie’s LetterMy love,
If you’re reading this, it means you finally opened the studio.
I hope you didn’t wait too long.
That was the first line.
Julian sat at Natalie’s desk as late afternoon light spilled across the pages. His wife’s handwriting looked exactly as he remembered—slanted, impatient, alive.
His chest hurt so badly he almost stopped.
But he kept reading.
You always think strength means carrying things alone. It doesn’t. Sometimes strength is letting the right people stand close enough to see you bleed.
If something ever happens to me, don’t turn this house into a shrine. Let the boys run. Let them break things. Let them say my name wrong. Let them remember me loudly.
Julian pressed his fist against his mouth.
Downstairs, something crashed.
Avery called, “Nobody move unless you are bleeding!”
A tiny voice yelled, “It’s only juice!”
Julian laughed once through tears.
Natalie had known.
Of course she had.
He continued.
Your mother will try to help by controlling everything. She loves you, but fear makes her cruel. Do not let her teach our sons that sadness must look respectable.
There was more.
Natalie wrote about the boys. Oliver’s careful heart. Reid’s fire. Mason’s quiet watchfulness. She wrote about Julian’s tendency to disappear into work when emotions became too large. She wrote about the life she wanted them to have if she was not there to build it with him.
Then came the final paragraph.
One day, someone may come into our home who makes the boys laugh again. You may feel guilty. You may feel angry. You may feel like loving the sound means betraying me.
It doesn’t.
Let them laugh, Julian.
Let yourself hear it.
Let the house live.
By the time Julian finished, he was crying in a way he had not allowed himself to cry since the hospital. Not controlled. Not silent. Not convenient.
He folded over the desk.
And for the first time, he did not feel Natalie leaving him.
He felt her asking him to come back.
A soft knock sounded.
Avery stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The boys wanted to know if they could use glitter, and I came to ask how emotionally attached you are to your furniture.”
Then she saw his face.
Her expression changed immediately. “Julian?”
It was the first time she had used his first name.
He held out the letter.
She hesitated. “That’s private.”
“She wrote about this,” he said, voice raw. “About someone making them laugh again.”
Avery stepped inside slowly.
Julian didn’t hand her the letter. Instead, he read the final lines aloud.
Let them laugh, Julian.
Let yourself hear it.
Let the house live.
Avery covered her mouth.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Julian said, “I thought if the house stayed quiet, it meant I still loved her.”
Avery’s eyes shone. “No. It only meant everyone was afraid to wake the pain.”
Julian looked at the letter. “She knew my mother would do this.”
“People who love control usually call it protection.”
That sentence cut deep.
Julian folded the letter carefully and placed it back on the desk.
“I need to change things,” he said.
Avery gave a small nod. “Start small.”
He looked downstairs.
A crash sounded again.
Then Oliver shouted, “It was not me emotionally!”
Despite everything, Julian laughed.
Avery smiled.
He wiped his face, stood, and walked downstairs.
The boys froze when they saw him.
Reid hid a glitter bottle behind his back. Poorly.
Julian looked at the table, the floor, the sparkling disaster spreading across imported wood.
Then he said, “Your mother loved glitter.”
Three mouths fell open.
“She did?” Mason whispered.
“She said it was impossible to be sad around something that refused to stop shining.”
Avery looked away, smiling through tears.
Julian picked up a glitter bottle.
“So,” he said, “what are we making?”
The boys erupted.
And later, when Diane reported the glitter incident to Vivienne, she described it as if a crime had occurred.
May you like
Vivienne listened without interruption.
Then she said, “Find out everything about Avery Collins.”
