The Weight of Forgiveness

Subject: I Don’t Expect Forgiveness, But I Need to Apologize

Hi, Sandra.

I hope this email doesn’t feel like an intrusion. If it does, I’ll understand if you don’t reply. I don’t even know if this is still your email address or if someone else will read it and wonder who the hell I am. But if it is you — and if you’re willing to hear me out — I need to say something I should have said a long time ago.

I’ve been carrying this apology for years. I kept telling myself that there was no point in sending it, that you wouldn’t want to hear from me, that it wouldn’t change anything. And maybe all of that’s true. But lately, it’s felt heavier than ever. Maybe it’s because I recently came across an old photograph of us, that one from the lake where we’re laughing and soaked, sitting on the dock after falling out of the canoe. Do you remember that day? I do. I remember thinking, God, I hope this moment never ends.

But it did end. It ended because I ruined it. I ruined us. And I’m sorry, Sandra. I’m so sorry.

I’ve replayed it all in my head more times than I can count. The arguments. The lies I told you. The way I pulled away when you needed me most. I wish I could say there was some grand reason for it all, but there wasn’t. I was selfish. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle the parts of you that weren’t perfect — and, in hindsight, they weren’t flaws at all. They were just parts of being human, and I was too immature to understand that.

Do you remember that night in October, the one where you stood in the doorway, begging me to just talk to you? You were wearing that ridiculous oversized sweater you loved, the one I used to tease you about because it swallowed you whole. I still remember the way your voice cracked when you said, “Why won’t you let me in?” I didn’t answer. I just stood there, silent, while you cried. And when you finally walked away, I felt relief. Relief. Can you believe that? I didn’t deserve you.

The truth is, I was too focused on myself. I wanted things to be easy, and when they weren’t, I ran. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, that breaking it off was better for both of us. But it wasn’t. I see that now. You deserved someone who would fight for you, who would hold your hand through the hard times and make you feel safe and loved. Instead, I became someone you had to heal from.

After we ended, I tried to move on. I dated other people. I kept myself busy. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. About all the things I should have done differently. I thought about reaching out a hundred times, but every time I picked up the phone, I told myself it was too late. And maybe it was. Maybe it still is.

I’m not writing this to reopen old wounds. I know you’ve likely moved on with your life. Maybe you’re married now. Maybe you have kids, a career you love, a life so full of happiness that you barely remember me. If that’s the case, I’m glad. You deserve that. More than anything, I hope you’re happy.

I’m writing this because I need you to know that I see it now. I see how much I hurt you, how much I took you for granted. And I hate that I can’t go back and fix it. I hate that I didn’t appreciate you when I had the chance. You were the best thing in my life, and I threw it away.

I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but if there’s even a small part of you that can, I would be grateful. And if not, I hope this email at least gives you some sense of closure. You deserve that, too.

Thank you for the time we had together, Sandra. You taught me so much about love and patience and kindness, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. I’ll always be grateful for you, even if I never deserved you.

Take care of yourself. Be happy. Be loved. And if you ever want to write back, I’ll be here.

— Dane

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

Sandra read the email three times before setting her laptop aside. Her hands trembled as she reached for her tea, now cold. She’d been waiting for this apology for years, though she hadn’t realized it until now.

Dane. It had been so long since she’d even said his name out loud, but it still held weight. She remembered everything he mentioned — the canoe, the sweater, the night she’d begged him to let her in. She remembered how shattered she’d felt when he ended things, how it had taken her years to rebuild herself from the ruins he’d left behind.

In those early days, she hadn’t known how to move forward. The ache felt endless, a dull throb that followed her through every conversation and every moment of quiet. She remembered breaking down in her therapist’s office after recounting how she’d begged Dane to let her in, feeling like her vulnerability had been a mistake.

Therapy became her lifeline. It taught her how to separate Dane’s actions from her own self-worth, how to stop internalizing his inability to love her the way she needed. Her therapist once said, “Sometimes people leave because they’re running from themselves, not you,” and that had stuck with her. Over time, she learned to identify the parts of herself that felt “unworthy” and challenge those beliefs.

Therapy also taught her the art of forgiveness. Not the kind that demanded she reconcile with Dane, but the kind that allowed her to let go of the pain he’d caused. Forgiving Dane wasn’t about absolving him; it was about freeing herself from the bitterness that had weighed her down for so long.

And now, sitting in her quiet, sunlit apartment, she realized she no longer felt tethered to the past.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, breaking her train of thought. She walked over and saw a text from Aaron.

Aaron - “Meeting ran late, but I’ll grab dinner on the way home. Thai okay?”

She typed back quickly, her fingers steady and her heart lighter than it had been in hours.

Sandra - “Thai sounds perfect. See you soon. Love you.”

She turned back to her laptop, Dane’s email still glowing on the screen. She thought about replying, letting him know that she forgave him, but as she reread his words, she realized the apology wasn’t for her. It was for him.

Still, forgiveness wasn’t about him either. It was about setting herself free.

She opened a new email and began to type.

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

Subject: RE: I Don’t Expect Forgiveness, But I Need to Apologize

Hi Dane,

I wasn’t expecting to hear from you after all these years, but I appreciate what you wrote. I can tell it wasn’t easy to put those words together, and I respect that you took the time to reach out.

I’ve thought about us a lot over the years, though not in the way I used to. There was a time when I was angry — angry at you, at myself, at how everything fell apart. But that anger faded as I healed and grew. Looking back, I see that we were both just trying to find our way, even if it meant stumbling and hurting each other along the way.

I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago, though I don’t think I realized it until I read your email. The person I am now is so different from the person I was then, and I think you’d be surprised at how much I’ve grown. Maybe you’ve grown too — I hope you have.

Life turned out okay for me. Better than okay, actually. I’m married now, to someone who makes me feel seen and loved every day. We’ve built a life that’s full of laughter and warmth, and I’m truly happy. I hope you’ve found happiness too, in whatever form that looks like for you.

Take care of yourself, Dane. Thank you for reaching out and for saying the words I once needed to hear. They may have come late, but they still mattered.

Wishing you all the best,

Sandra

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

Sandra re-read the email, her heart calm as she absorbed the finality of her words. It felt right — not overly sentimental, not too harsh. Just honest. She hit "Send" and leaned back in her chair, staring at the empty inbox screen.

The chapter with Dane wasn’t one she would revisit again. She had Aaron, their life together, and the person she’d become. That was more than enough.

When Aaron walked through the door later, balancing a bag of takeout and two bottles of wine, Sandra wrapped her arms around him and smiled. The weight she’d carried for years had finally lifted, and she knew now that she didn’t need to look back anymore.