Unscripted

A Chapter of Letting Go

One day, Rebecca found me on set, looking tense as always, her guarded eyes softened just a bit.

"Did you know," she said, her voice almost a whisper, "that there's a chapter in his webcomic just about you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Rebecca told me about a hidden chapter, a love letter of sorts, where he called me his muse. His biggest regret. I was stunned. She explained that it had helped her let go, knowing she wasn't the only one he'd affected.

"You should read it," she said before she walked away, leaving me with questions I didn't know I wanted answered.

I had never been the type to read things I knew would hurt. But the moment Rebecca had told me about that hidden chapter-Daniel's love letter to me, his *muse*, his biggest regret-I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to see it for myself. Part of me wanted to deny it. Part of me wanted to throw it all away, to protect myself from whatever feelings had been stirred up by that simple admission.

But, as always with Daniel, curiosity got the better of me.

That night, after the editing session, I found myself alone in my apartment with nothing but a glass of wine and my phone. The weight of the day still sat heavy on my shoulders, and the last thing I wanted to do was face the past again. But as I opened the webcomic on my screen, I felt a rush of something I hadn't experienced in years: vulnerability.

The chapter was buried somewhere in the middle, hidden under layers of other stories-other exes, other versions of himself. It wasn't labeled, wasn't a focal point. Just a quiet entry, almost an afterthought. But when I found it, my hands trembled as I scrolled.

The words were raw, almost too much for me to bear.

_"Abigail was always more than I deserved. She came into my life like a storm, full of passion and intensity, and for a time, I thought I could handle it. But like all things I never truly understood, I let it slip through my fingers. She was my muse-my brightest star-and I was the fool who couldn't keep her. She gave me everything, and I gave her nothing."_

The words on the screen blurred as my eyes filled with tears. His regret, his self-awareness, it all hit me at once. I remembered how hard I'd tried to make it work, how much I'd given him, how much I had wanted him to be the man I needed. But that was never going to happen, was it? Daniel was always more focused on his image, his story, than on the people who loved him. Even now, reading those words, I realized something important.

I had already let him go.

But this... this was his attempt at letting me go.

The chapter went on. He spoke of the late nights, the small moments we shared, the laughter, the arguments. And then, there it was-"the line" that I would carry with me:

_"If I had just listened, if I had just "seen" her, I wonder how different things might have been. But some things are meant to stay lost, like old love letters that never get sent. Abigail was my greatest lesson, and she'll always be the one I regret not fighting for."_

I set the phone down and took a long, shaky breath. The anger I'd carried with me for so long had finally burned out. It wasn't gone, but it was smaller now-more manageable. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to feel, but for the first time in years, I felt a sense of *release*. Maybe this wasn't about closure. Maybe this was about *letting go*. Letting go of the past, letting go of the pain, letting go of him.

It wasn't about forgiveness-it was about *freedom*.

---

A few days later, I met with Elizabeth, Sonia, and Rebecca at a little café near the studio. We'd all been working around the clock, and it felt like the perfect moment to breathe and just... talk. To stop pretending like everything was fine and to let ourselves be vulnerable, for once.

As we sat down, the tension that I had been holding in my chest for so long began to dissipate. I didn't feel like the only one anymore. The walls between us started to come down, and what followed was something I hadn't expected-a genuine connection.

Sonia kicked her legs up on the chair, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Okay, let's get this out in the open: who here thinks Daniel's 'tragic hero' act is the most ridiculous thing ever?"

We all burst into laughter.

"I mean, seriously!" Elizabeth chimed in, her voice high with mock indignation. "The guy can't even keep track of his own coffee order, and he's out here acting like he's a tortured artist. I've had enough of that nonsense."

Rebecca, who had always been the quiet one, raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe he tried to paint me as this "soulful" character. I'm not some "mystical healer"-I'm just trying to get through a day without losing my phone."

We all laughed even harder, the tension in the air melting away with each joke, each shared memory. I hadn't realized how much I needed this-how much I needed them. We were all part of his story, and yet, none of us were really defined by it. It was just a chapter, just a few pages in a much bigger book. And we were so much more than that.

"I think we've all learned one thing through all this," Sonia said, grinning like she had just cracked some cosmic code. "No matter how many chapters he writes about us, we'll always be "more" than whatever version of us he's making up."

I looked at my three exes, the women I'd shared so much history with, and for the first time, I didn't feel like I was competing for anything. No one was trying to outshine the other. We were all just women, flawed and strong in our own ways, and together, we had survived a piece of Daniel's story.

"You're right," I said, a smile creeping up on my face. "I think I've finally figured it out. We're not just his past-we're our own futures."

"And Daniel's stuck in his little tragic hero fantasy," Elizabeth added with a wink. "Let him have that."

We all clinked our glasses together, the laughter continuing to echo around us as we celebrated the very thing Daniel had never quite understood: our freedom.

I didn't need to hold on to his version of me anymore. I had already rewritten my own story, and that was enough.