Chapter 69: A Letter From Seventeen-Year-Old Nessa

Mom found the letter while cleaning my old room in Willowmere.

She called me immediately.

"I think you should read this."

"What is it?"

"A letter you wrote to yourself."

I didn't remember it.

She brought it to Lunaris.

The envelope said:

OPEN AFTER YOU MEET KNOX.

My chest tightened.

I had written it during the worst part of my weight loss.

Seventeen.

Hungry.

Hopeful.

Terrified.

I opened it alone.

Dear future Nessa,

If you're reading this, you finally met him.

I hope he smiled when he saw you.

I hope all the running was worth it.

I hope he thinks you're pretty.

I stopped.

The handwriting shook slightly in places.

I hope you're thin enough that he doesn't feel embarrassed.

My eyes burned.

I kept reading.

Please don't mess this up. Knox is the best thing that's ever happened to us. If he likes you in person, maybe everything will finally be okay.

Maybe you'll stop being the fat girl.

Maybe boys won't laugh anymore.

Maybe you'll finally feel normal.

I pressed the page against my chest.

For a while, I couldn't continue.

Rowan found me under the cedar.

He saw my face and stopped.

"What happened?"

I handed him the letter.

He read silently.

His jaw tightened.

Not at me.

At the pain inside the words.

When he finished, he sat beside me.

"I want to hug seventeen-year-old you."

"She'd faint."

"Because I'm handsome?"

"Because you're arrogant."

"Still."

I laughed through tears.

The final paragraph hurt most.

If Knox doesn't like you, try harder. Don't give up. You can always lose more.

Rowan closed his eyes.

"Nessa."

"I know."

"No."

He took my hand.

"That girl thought rejection meant she had to disappear."

I nodded.

"I almost did."

Not literally.

But piece by piece.

Hunger.

Exhaustion.

Fear.

Every pound had become proof of effort.

Every compliment became temporary permission to exist.

I hated that she had carried that alone.

"What do I do with it?" I asked.

"The letter?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever you want."

Burn it.

Archive it.

Throw it away.

Keep it.

No correct symbolic ending.

Rhea would probably demand it for historical records.

Absolutely not.

Instead, I wrote a reply.

Dear seventeen-year-old Nessa,

You met him.

But not the way you expected.

Knox didn't smile when he saw you because he had already decided what you were worth without meeting you.

That will hurt.

For a while, you'll think the answer is becoming even more beautiful.

It isn't.

I paused.

Rowan sat quietly beside me.

I continued.

You're going to meet someone else because of something cruel Knox does.

Don't thank Knox for it.

Cruelty doesn't become good because something beautiful grows afterward.

The boy you meet will love you.

But that isn't the ending either.

You're going to find your family.

Your Pack.

A cousin who steals your coffee.

Friends who refuse to let you hide.

Work that matters.

A version of strength that doesn't require starving.

I smiled.

Rhea did steal my coffee constantly.

Most importantly, you're going to learn that being wanted and being worthy are not the same thing.

You were worthy before anyone wanted you.

I stopped again.

That sentence took the longest.

Then:

You don't have to become smaller to deserve a bigger life.

Love,

Nessa

I folded both letters together.

Rowan asked, "Keeping them?"

"Yes."

"Archive?"

"Personal archive."

"Rhea will steal it."

"Then I'll kill her."

"Healthy family dynamics."

We placed the letters in a small box in my room.

Not hidden.

Not displayed.

Just kept.

That evening, I went to Willowmere with Mom.

My old room looked smaller.

The desk where I used to game with Knox remained by the window.

I sat in the chair.

Opened the game.

My old healer character still existed.

Princess Nut.

Level eighty-seven.

Ridiculous pink armor.

I laughed.

A friend request appeared.

Unknown account.

For one second, my heart jumped backward in time.

Then I saw the username.

SupremeNut.

I called Rowan.

"Seriously?"

His voice came through the hallway.

"What?"

He stepped into the room holding his laptop.

"You made a new account?"

"My old one became politically identifiable."

"SupremeNut is subtle?"

"Very."

I accepted the request.

We played one match.

He was terrible.

"You used to be better."

"I'm rusty."

"You died twice."

"Protect me."

"I'm the healer."

"Exactly."

I healed him anyway.

Not because I needed to earn his affection.

Not because I was afraid he'd leave if I stopped being useful.

Because it was a game.

Because I loved him.

Because I wanted to.

When the match ended, the screen displayed victory.

I looked at the old desk.

The old room.

The old character.

So much had changed.

But I didn't hate the girl who had lived here anymore.

She had done the best she could with what she believed.

Now I knew more.

That was enough.

Before leaving Willowmere, I stood in front of the old mirror where I had once photographed myself from angles designed to hide as much as possible. I didn't take a new comparison picture. I had enough before-and-after images. What I wanted now was continuity. The girl reflected there had changed in a thousand ways no photograph could measure. She was still me. I touched the edge of the mirror and smiled, not because I looked perfect, but because I no longer needed the reflection to deliver a verdict.