Unbroken

buried. She liked the idea of going back into the earth, in a way: becoming a part of the ocean, and the trees, and the beach again. I thought it would be healing somehow, to see the cycle of life revolve. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But when Dad emptied out the urn, it didn’t seem real to me: that my flesh-and-blood mother could be reduced to a couple of handfuls of dirt. I watched the ashes dance and skip in the wind for a moment, and then she was gone.
    Just, gone.
    Except, now I have something of her again. This mysterious letter to Emerson.
    I reach for it, tracing my fingertips over the edge of the paper. By the end of that summer, we were fighting all the time. I was so head-over-heels in love with Emerson, I didn’t care about anything, as long as I would be with him. I was ready to tear up all my old plans. It seemed so romantic: just the two of us, together, building a life on our own. We would figure it out, to hell with what my parents said. I remember Mom, begging and pleading with me not to gamble everything on him. It tore her apart when I told her everything was going to change. We spent so much of her final days yelling at each other, my heart aches to think of it now.
    All that time wasted, that I’ll never get back.
    When she died, I felt the guilt cut through me like a thousand sharp blades, but I was determined I’d made the right decision. Emerson was all that mattered now, the only one I had left in the world—at least, that’s what I thought.
    Until the terrible afternoon he walked away and left me there, broken in the rain, and proved her right after all
    It takes a moment to gather all my courage before I finally ease it the envelope open and pull out the folded page inside.
    The paper crackles as I unfold it, and I inhale in a sharp rush of air. My heart contracts with a deep ache seeing her familiar cursive loop, slanted across the page.
    Mommy…
    I feel the tears pool in my eyes, and I have to wipe them away with the sleeve of my hoodie before I can focus enough to read.
Dear Emerson,
I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye this summer. You have to understand, I love my daughter more than anything, and I only want the best for her. It breaks my heart to watch her talk about delaying college, and staying here in Cedar Cove with you. This isn’t down to you—I’ve come to see that you love her deeply, in your way, which is why I’m begging you to stop her from making this mistake. She is on the verge of becoming a woman, with a bright future ahead of her. She can have anything she wants: make a career for herself, be independent, and see the world. She can make a happy, stable life far beyond anything I can hope for her. But if she stays here with you, then all of that will be wasted.
She loves you, we both know that. But you and I also both know that staying here with you would ruin her. She may think this is what she wants now, but there’s nothing for her in this town, you have to see. Ask yourself, is this the life you’d choose for her? Is it really everything she deserves? I chose to give up everything for her father over twenty years ago, and there’s not a day that passes when I wish I hadn’t chosen differently.
Juliet is stubborn, she wouldn’t listen to me. I can’t stay to make her understand: once I’m gone, that falls to you. I beg you again, if you love her, don’t let her throw her life away. She will resent you for it soon enough, trust me on that.
I’m putting my faith in you to do what’s right. Please. If you love her the way you claim to do, give her the life she deserves.
Yours,
Jeanette.
    I lower the letter, my hands shaking.
    I can’t believe it.
    This is the reason for my heartbreak and pain? I’m stunned, and dazed, realization washing over me in a wave of clarity. All this time, I believed what Emerson told me that day: that love wasn’t enough. But in a twisted way, he broke things off that summer because he loved me. Because it was my mom’s dying wish. And all this time, he never told me.
    He never told me!
    I’m reeling. It still doesn’t make sense to me, but looking back now at that final, terrible fight, I can see. How agonized he looked, pulling away from me. How my insults about him being just like his parents must have struck, so harsh and close to home.
    He was hurting me to protect me. He was trying to do the right thing.
    And now he’s doing the exact same thing, all over again.
    My heart splits in two for him. What