How To Let Go Of Her Novels & Stories

No tears. Just calm. Still. Like the surface of a lake undisturbed by wind. She read it again, slowly. Word by word. And what she felt wasn’t pain—but release. Because for the first time, she could receive a farewell without breaking apart. Because she understood now: a good ending doesn’t always mean reunion—it sometimes means letting go with grace. --- Her steps were light as she walked toward the studio’s balcony. The Florentine morning still carried the freshness of dew and the faint scent of blooming olive flowers. She sat in the old wicker chair, looking down at her phone one more time.

Without her, I was adrift, lost in a sea of my own making. I blinked back my tears, the room around me blurring, and took a shaky breath. I had held on for so long to this belief that if I only tried enough, if I just held on tight enough, she would be mine again. But love wasn't possession. It wasn't grasping hold of someone until they could do nothing but stay there. Love was letting go. It was trusting someone to make their own choices, even if those choices didn't include you. And now, I had to let her go.

"Let go of me, Carter. You can't just treat me badly and then out of nowhere want me to forget everything and forgive you. It doesn't work that way." She separated her head from mind and pushed me backwards. I let go of her hand because I couldn't fight any more. I didn't want to get her angrier than she was already. "Okay fine. I will let you be for a moment." I said as I took sluggish steps towards the bed. I was going to let her be for a moment. I was going to continue when she was in a calm mood, or maybe take her out, as Laden had instructed. I took my phone and quietly climbed on the bed.

I whispered to her, but she shook her head, her lips quivering hard. "I am fine," she said, her voice shaky. "I am fine." I nodded. "I know. I know." I wrapped my arms around her tight, my eyes closing, my chest heaving as she held me tight too, her head burying in my neck. I closed my eyes, the tears running down my cheeks. Whether we wanted it or not, part of loving was indeed letting go. Whether it was like Hillary had to let go of Manuel or the way Manuel has to let me go.

"So you are really giving up on him?" “I am not giving up," I corrected gently. "I am letting go. There is a difference. Giving up means I still want it but I'm too tired to fight. Letting go means I finally understand it was never meant to be mine in the first place." "That sounds sad," Nyra whispered.

I poured my heart out to her, believing I was talking to myself, getting everything in my head out into the open so that when she opened her eyes I could ask for her forgiveness. Three days later she opened her eyes and stared at me. I was fast asleep, holding her hand, my head on my arms, my cheeks still wet with the tears I always seemed to shed when I was alone with her. She did not wake me, just lifted her other hand and placed it on my head, running her fingers through my long, silky curls. 'You need to learn to let me go, Killian O'Hara. Always remember, if you love them, let them go; if they love you back, they will return.'

"In that case, do not turn your attention to me! When in the first place you shouldn't!" His eyes shift to almost soft. I saw how my shout prompted him to stop. I watch him in awe. I adjusted myself before turning to him. It was like, my next set of words were ready to break him. But I don't have a choice to let go. I don't have choice but to let things flow it shouldn't. And the more I do not want to love the favor is in me. So it's a win win situation. I let go and let my self free from hurt.

When she spoke, her voice was gentle, but there was no room in it for him to step closer. "You should have chosen me when I was still asking." He nodded. There were things he wanted to tell her. That he still had the photo. That the apartment felt wrong without her. That he had found the bracelet and remembered the night he gave it to her so clearly it had kept him awake. That some mornings he still reached for his phone before remembering he was no longer the person she called. But saying any of that would only hand her another piece of his grief to hold. She had carried enough for him.

Levi reluctantly let go of my hand, opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could speak, I hurried away. Like avoiding a plague, I was avoiding him. What I didn't see was Levi watching my retreating figure, his chest heaving noticeably. His restrained emotions were slowly crumbling, and this time, he would never let me go of his hand. But I was far from as calm as I appeared on the surface. I was letting go of my past with Levi, but the thought of the pain he had caused me still made me resentful.

"You fret in your own grease, and I won't forgive you. Never." He looked at me in despair, trembling as he pulled out the diamond ring he had thrown under the bed. "I regret it so much," he stammered. "I'm sorry. Please, give me another chance." Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, snowflakes began to fall again, just like the day we first met. I looked away and slowly stood up. "Let go. While I still remember the good parts about you, let go." His hand drooped, and his shoulders slumped.