Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~7 min read
SUMMER – EIGHT MONTHS POST-EXPLOSION
I’m managing the new gallery location.
It’s small. In Queens. Affordable art for normal people.
I love it.
A customer comes in. Young couple. Nervous.
“We’re looking for something for our first apartment,” the girl says.
I show them a piece. Abstract. Warm colors. Hopeful.
“It’s called ‘New Beginnings,'” I explain. “The artist painted it after a divorce. It’s about starting over.”
They buy it.
As I’m wrapping it, the guy says, “You really love this stuff, huh?”
“Yeah. I do.”
It’s true.
For the first time in my life, I’m doing something I love.
Not for my parents. Not for status.
For me.
JAX – EIGHT MONTHS POST-EXPLOSION
I can’t stop thinking about what Marco said.
She was outside. She told me to tell you she’s sorry.
I want to reach out.
But I don’t know what to say.
Felix notices my distraction.
“You’re thinking about her again.”
“How do you know?”
“You get this look. Sad. Nostalgic.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“I want to talk to her. But I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“So don’t talk to her. Or do. But stop being in limbo. It’s killing you.”
He’s right.
I need to decide.
Talk to her. Or let her go. For real this time.
SUMMER – LATE NIGHT
I’m drafting an email.
I’ve written it seventeen times.
Deleted it seventeen times.
Draft 18:
Jax,
I don’t know if you’ll read this. Or if you want to hear from me. But I need to say this.
I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to know I mean it. What I did was unforgivable. I lied to you for two years. Used you as my escape while I played the perfect daughter for my family.
You deserved honesty. You deserved someone who chose you fully. And I couldn’t give you that because I didn’t even know who I was.
I’m in therapy now. Working on myself. Learning to be honest. To live authentically. To stop people-pleasing and start existing as myself.
I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect anything. I just wanted you to know that you were right—you did deserve better.
And I’m sorry I couldn’t be that for you.
Summer
I read it.
Delete it.
Can’t send it.
Not yet.
THEO – EIGHT MONTHS POST-EXPLOSION
I’m at a charity gala.
My mother insisted I come.
“You need to be seen. Show everyone you’ve moved on.”
I have moved on.
Haven’t I?
Blake’s here.
Again.
She approaches. “Theo. You look well.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve been thinking about you. About us. About what I threw away.”
“Blake, we’re not doing this.”
“Why not? We were good together. Before I messed up.”
“You cheated. Summer cheated. I’m done with people who lie.”
“I’ve changed—”
“I don’t care.”
I walk away.
Find Adrian.
“Blake’s here.”
“I saw. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired of everyone from my past resurf”acing.”
“Maybe that’s the universe telling you to deal with it. Get actual closure.”
“I have closure.”
“Do you? Because you’re still single. Still not dating seriously. Still closed off.”
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I need real closure with Summer.
Not just walking away.
SUMMER – THE NEXT MORNING
I open my email.
There’s a message from an unknown sender.
I almost delete it.
But something makes me open it.
From: theodore.lancaster@lancasterventures.com
Summer,
I’ve been in therapy for eight months. Working through what happened between us. My therapist suggested I write to you. Not to send, necessarily. But to process.
I’m sending it anyway.
I was angry for a long time. Felt betrayed. Humiliated. Used. And I blamed you entirely.
But therapy’s helped me see my part in it. I agreed to an arranged marriage. I put expectations on you that weren’t fair. I wanted you to be someone you weren’t.
That doesn’t excuse your lies. But it explains why you felt trapped.
I’m not writing to rekindle anything. We’re not right for each other. We never were.
But I wanted you to know: I forgive you.
Not because you deserve it. But because holding onto anger was killing me.
I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’ve found whatever you were looking for.
Theo
I read it three times.
Cry.
He forgives me.
Theo forgives me.
It’s more than I deserve.
I write back.
To: theodore.lancaster@lancasterventures.com
Theo,
Thank you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m grateful for it.
You’re right—we were never right for each other. I tried to force myself into a mold that didn’t fit. And I hurt you in the process.
I’m sorry. For lying. For wasting your time. For humiliating you.
I’m in therapy too. Learning to be authentic. To stop living for other people’s expectations.
I’m glad you’re healing. You deserved better than what I gave you.
I hope you find someone who chooses you freely. For real reasons.
Summer
I hit send.
Close my laptop.
One person has forgiven me.
Maybe eventually, I can forgive myself.
JAX – SAME DAY
I’m drafting my own email.
Draft 1:
Summer,
Marco told me you came by. That you said you’re sorry.
I don’t know what to do with that. Part of me wants to forgive you. Part of me is still so angry.
I loved you. Really loved you. And you lied to me every single day for two years.
How do I move past that?
I delete it.
Too angry.
Draft 2:
Summer,
I miss you.
Too desperate.
Draft 3:
Summer,
Can we talk?
Too simple.
I close my laptop.
Can’t send it.
Not yet.
SUMMER – ONE WEEK LATER
Janet gives me more responsibility.
“I want you to curate the summer exhibition. Your choice of artists. Your vision.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’ve earned it.”
It’s huge.
My own exhibition.
My vision.
I call Rose. “Janet’s letting me curate the summer show!”
“That’s amazing! What’s the theme?”
“I don’t know yet. I need to think about it.”
“Think big. This is your chance to make a statement.”
I hang up.
Sit with my sketchbook.
What do I want to say?
What story do I want to tell?
I write: AUTHENTICITY
Yes.
That’s it.
An exhibition about being real. Flawed. Human.
About truth after lies.
About rebuilding after destruction.
I start making calls.
JAX – TWO WEEKS LATER
Rose texts me.
ROSE: Summer’s curating an exhibition. Theme is authenticity. Thought you might want to know.
JAX: Why are you telling me this?
ROSE: Because you two are idiots who still love each other but are too stubborn to admit it.
JAX: I don’t love her.
ROSE: Liar.
I stare at my phone.
Do I still love her?
Honestly?
Yes.
But love isn’t enough.
Trust matters.
And I don’t trust her.
SUMMER – THREE WEEKS LATER
The exhibition’s coming together.
Ten artists. All exploring themes of truth and vulnerability.
There’s one spot left.
I need something powerful. Raw. Honest.
I think about Jax’s tattoo work.
How he captures emotion in ink.
How his art tells stories.
But I can’t ask him.
Can I?
No.
That would be inappropriate.
Crossing a boundary.
But his work is perfect for the theme.
I agonize for three days.
Finally, I email him.
To: jax@inkandsteel.com
Jax,
I’m curating an art exhibition about authenticity. About truth after lies. Rebuilding after destruction.
Your work is perfect for it. The way you capture emotion. Tell stories through ink.
I understand if you say no. I understand if you delete this without reading.
But if you’re willing, I’d love to feature your tattoo photography.
No pressure. No strings. Just art.
Summer
I hit send before I can delete it.
Immediately regret it.
JAX – SAME DAY
I get the email.
Read it.
Read it again.
She wants to feature my work.
In her exhibition.
About authenticity.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I should say no.
But…
My work has never been in a gallery.
It’s always been seen as “low art.”
This is a chance.
A real chance.
I write back.
When do you need an answer?
Her response is immediate.
End of week.
I have three days to decide.
Whether to work with her.
Or walk away.
For good.
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