A few weeks later, they married in a small ceremony with family and close friends.
I’d assumed Kat had grown close to him after his diagnosis.
But now I realized I knew almost nothing.
After the wedding, my friend pulled me aside, glanced toward Killian, and told me there was something I should know about a letter.
I knew almost nothing.
***
The morning after the wedding, I called Kat, who still hadn’t moved in with Killian. “Tell me about the letter.”
She went quiet.
Then she said, “I need you to find something first.”
Apparently, my new sister-in-law had decided marriage wasn’t enough. She also wanted to turn my life into a mystery novel.
She went quiet.
My friend explained that when I’d borrowed storage boxes from her while moving apartments three years earlier, one of them had contained things she’d kept from high school.
I’d accidentally mixed that box with my belongings and stored everything in Killian’s garage.
“Are you telling me my poor organizational skills are involved in this?”
“Unfortunately.”
I’d borrowed storage boxes.
“Fantastic. My greatest contribution to society.”
My friend asked me to check whether the envelope was still there.
I agreed, but only after making her promise she’d explain everything.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
I didn’t believe her.
“My greatest contribution to society.”
***
That afternoon, I visited Killian.
He was resting on the couch. “Look who’s here. My least expensive wedding guest.”
“I gave you a toaster.”
“A cheap one.”
“I considered giving you a refund on your personality.”
He laughed.
I visited Killian.
Kat was out picking up groceries, so I asked about the boxes.
“Still in the garage,” he said. “Looking for something?”
“Maybe.”
***
I looked through several boxes, cursing Kat under my breath until I found the one beneath an old camping chair.
“Looking for something?”
Inside were photos, notebooks, birthday cards, and a pink envelope.
One word was written across the front: “Idiot.”
I didn’t open it.
I photographed it and sent it to Kat.
She called immediately. “You found it!”
I didn’t open it.
“Yes. Apparently, someone wrote a love letter to an idiot.”
She made a strange sound. “Please don’t read it.”
“Fine. But tomorrow, you’re explaining everything.”
Then she asked, “Piper, did Killian see it?”
I frowned. “I don’t think he has.”
She went silent.
“Did Killian see it?”
***
That evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything.
Three years earlier, Killian had suddenly started appearing whenever Kat visited.
He’d offer to drive her home, claiming he didn’t trust her parking.
He’d bring extra coffee, insisting he’d ordered the wrong drink.
I couldn’t stop thinking.
Once, during a barbecue, Kat complained about her uncomfortable chair.
Killian immediately exchanged chairs with her.
Then he spent an hour complaining about his back.
I’d called him an idiot.
He’d said, “Somebody has to keep her from damaging the furniture with her squirming.”
Killian immediately exchanged chairs.
At the time, I’d thought nothing of it.
Now I wondered.
***
I searched through our old messages.
Kat had complained about Killian constantly.
But her complaints had changed over the years.
I’d thought nothing of it.
Two years earlier, my friend had written, “Your brother came to annoy me at my workplace again.”
Later, she’d written, “Killian helped me carry groceries upstairs. He complained the entire time.”
Then came another message: “Your brother remembered my birthday. Unfortunately, he still exists.”
I stared at my screen.
Every complaint involved Killian finding another excuse to see her.
I stared at my screen.
Either they were secretly dating, or something strange was happening.
I needed answers.
***
The following morning, Kat came over.
I placed the envelope on the table.
I needed answers.
“Look. I’m not angry because you married Killian,” I said. “I’m angry because you made me feel like the only person who didn’t understand what was happening.”
She sat down. “I know.”
“How long have you loved him?”
Her expression changed. “Piper…”
“Please don’t lie.”
“I’m not angry.”
She looked at the envelope. “Since we were teenagers.”
I stared. “Teenagers?!”
Kat nodded. “When we were 17, I wrote him a letter.”
I pointed at the envelope. “That letter?”
“Yes.”
I nearly fell off my chair!
