Letter #4 - "Happy Endings"

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        The kids decided to have a sleep over with their friends, which was nice. Michael was already asleep, and it was only eight, because he had to work a night shift that started at eleven. Unfortunately for him, working at a hospital means that you can be told to work at any time, even if it meant sending the workers back after only a few hours. When he got home, he grabbed a quick snack and crashed on our bed. I felt bad for him only having a couple hours of rest, but he never really showed too many signs of stress or tiredness. He was an excellent role model for anyone who was going to work as a nurse.

        Since he was asleep, I thought this was the best opportune time for me to read the fourth letter in the collection. Quietly and carefully, I got out of bed so I wouldn't wake Michael, then I made my way over to the Letter Loft. I grabbed the next letter, and tore it open gently. The sound of the tearing made Michael turn in his sleep, so I knew I had to be even quieter. I laid on top of my bed and checked the date on the letter, which happened to be 'January 12th, 2026'. This was a couple weeks past Christmas, and I was really interested in what had happened to her during that time span.

        The letters were beginning to become more like a story to me now. As strange as it sounds, it is very true. In all actuality, it really was a story, wasn't it? It was the story of Camila's life since we last saw each other. Sometimes the story was sad, but there were some good parts. Just as I did with any story, I became an emotional wreck after reading each chapter. I unfolded the letter finally, and I started to read:

Dear Lauren,

        My mother told me something today that I just couldn't believe. She told me that you had gotten married. I'm upset, Lauren. Not that you moved on, but because you never told me. I didn't even get an invitation. I'd invite you to my wedding, Lauren. Except you'd be standing across from me, holding my hands as we recited our vows to one another. Then we would kiss the bride-or brides-however you want to put it.

        I was told you married someone named Michael, and that you met him when you ran your shopping cart into his in the grocery store. It seems like something that happens in the movies, now that I think about it. Your life seems to be like a movie, I guess. Not mine. Movies always have happy endings. You've got yours, so where is mine? Am I not deserving of one? Did I do something wrong? Even if Andy asked me to marry him, and I accepted, I'd never declare that as my happy ending. I'd just never be completely happy, you know?

        Well, anyways. Congratulations on the marriage. Even though I wish it was me that you said 'I do' to, I'm still so happy and proud of you, as much as it pains me to say so. 

        The thought of my marriage upset me, because honestly, it was the only thing that tied me down so I couldn't go to see Camila. I went on to read.

        So how was your New Year, Lauren? I know you got married, so there's a start. I spent mine with Andy, because he asked. He was having a little party at his house, so I guess I accepted because I had nothing better to do. At midnight, we had a New Years' kiss. When I closed my eyes to kiss him, I imagined my lips touching yours as the fireworks lit up in the sky around us. My stomach fluttered at the thought, but sadly, I opened my eyes to his blue ones instead of your deep emerald ones. I figured that I would have preferred to kiss no one at all.

        I frowned, as I remembered doing the same thing... every single New Year. In my mind, I was never kissing Michael under the light of the fluorescent fireworks. It was always Camila. I continued.

        I'm glad that you're happy, Lauren. I'm not lying either. Since I am thinking about it, your smile has always lightened up my day. To think that you are smiling next to a man that loves you makes this all okay. I am actually smiling for the first time in a while. Silly of me to even be upset in the first place! Sorry for that. 

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