Forever Meant for You.

Chapter 65 Letters from recovery

Trevor's POV

The mornings in rehab started early — too early for most of us. The sun hadn't even touched the window yet when the bell rang for group therapy. I rubbed my face, feeling the rough stubble against my hands, and pulled on the same gray sweatshirt I'd worn for a week.

It wasn't glamorous, but it was honest — and maybe that was what I needed most.

The counselor, Mason, gave us each a notebook and said, "Write something to someone you love — something you've never said out loud."

I stared at the blank page for a long time, the pen heavy in my hand. Finally, I began to write.

Dear Kat,

There's a lot I wish I could undo, and even more I wish I could say face to face. But since I can't hold your hand right now, I'll let the words do it for me.

You told me once that love can't just hurt — it has to heal. I didn't understand that until I walked into this place. I thought strength meant hiding pain, but now I know it means facing it. Every day I wake up sober is another day I get closer to the man you deserve.

I see your face every night before I sleep — your eyes, the way you tried to smile even when I was breaking us apart. I was too proud, too scared, too drunk to admit I needed help. But I need you to know, Kat — I'm getting better. Not for the world, not even for the program — but for you, for Dad, for Cody, and for me.

If you're still out there waiting, don't give up on me just yet. I'm not the man I used to be. I'm trying to be someone worth loving again.

— Yours, always,
Trevor

I set the pen down, staring at the letter as if the words could somehow fix everything I'd broken.

Mason: -walking by, pausing- "That one looks like it came from the heart."

Trevor: -nodding quietly- "Yeah. It did."

Mason: -smiling- "Then that's the first real step, son. Facing it, writing it down, and meaning every word."

Trevor: -looking out the window-, whispering "I mean every one of them."

Later That Night – Trevor's Room

He folded the letter carefully and placed it in an envelope, setting it beside his bed. The small cross Kat once gave him rested next to it.

Trevor: -softly, to himself- "One day at a time, Kat. One day at a time."

He lay back, eyes heavy but heart lighter than it had been in months. Somewhere beyond those walls, Kat was waiting — and this time, he wasn't going to let her down.