The Last Letter

Chapter One

Teigen sat cross-legged on her bed, the glow of her laptop screen casting a pale light over her face. The soft hum of Atlanta’s cityscape seeped through the cracked window, but she barely noticed. Her mind was a tangled mess of schedules, patient charts, and the gnawing ache of something else she couldn't push away.

Her residency at Grady Hospital had officially started three weeks ago, and she was already drowning in a tidal wave of emotions. Pride, anxiety, exhaustion—they all swirled together, but tonight, one emotion rose above the rest: loneliness.

Closing her laptop, Tegien leaned back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. She should be proud. She was finally here, doing what she’d dreamed of since she was a teenager. Saving lives, working alongside some of the best doctors in the field. But instead of feeling triumphant, her chest felt heavy. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to shake the weight pressing down on her. It wasn’t just the brutal hours or the high-stakes cases that had her unraveling.

It was him.

Christopher.

They hadn’t spoken in two months, but his absence was a constant ache. A hollow space where her best friend used to be. Chris had been her anchor, her sounding board, her cheerleader through med school. He was the one who’d bring her coffee during late-night study sessions, who’d make her laugh until she couldn’t breathe when the stress became too much. But he was also the one she’d pushed away last May.

Because he couldn’t commit.

Because he wouldn’t commit.

And she couldn’t keep waiting for someone who seemed determined to keep one foot out the door. Breaking things off had been the logical choice. The mature choice. At least, that’s what she told herself at the time. But now, sitting here alone in the quiet of her new apartment, all she could feel was regret.

Her apartment was small but cozy, nestled in the heart of the city. The sounds of cars honking, distant laughter, and the occasional wail of a siren filtered through the walls. It reminded her of when she used to stay over at Chris’s place, the two of them wrapped up in each other as the city buzzed around them. She could still hear his laugh as they lay awake on restless nights, whispering about their dreams and teasing each other until dawn. And the mornings—how they’d groan and bury their heads under the pillows when the noise of the city woke them too early. The memories clung to her like the humid air outside, impossible to shake.

Tegien reached for her phone on the nightstand, her fingers trembling as she unlocked it. She typed his name into the search bar, and there it was: Christopher. His picture popped up, and her heart ached. A candid photo she’d taken of him at Piedmont Park, sunlight catching in his dark curls, that crooked smile that always made her feel like the most important person in the world.

She clicked on his name, scrolling through their old messages. The light banter, the random memes he’d send to make her laugh during long shifts, the deeper conversations about their dreams and fears. It was all still there, frozen in time, like a scrapbook of what they used to be. Her eyes welled up as she read through his last message: “I’m sorry, Teg. I want to fix this, but I don’t know how.”

She’d never replied.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. She pulled up the message box, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words felt stuck in her throat. What could she say? That she missed him? That she was sorry? That breaking up with him felt like the biggest mistake of her life? Would he even care? Would he believe her?

Her chest tightened as doubt crept in. “It’s pointless,” she muttered to herself, dropping the phone onto her lap. But the tears kept coming, and she couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in. The way he used to hold her when she cried, the way he’d kiss her forehead and tell her everything would be okay. She missed him. God, she missed him.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and reached for a notebook on her bedside table. If she couldn’t bring herself to text him, maybe she could at least write down what she wanted to say. She flipped to a blank page, her pen trembling in her hand.

Dear Chris,

She paused, staring at the words. Where did she even begin? Her mind raced, trying to organize the storm of emotions into something coherent. After a deep breath, she started writing.

Today I cried because I miss you. I miss us. The time spent, the laughs, the conversations, the advice, the kisses. Especially the kisses. Even the tears.

Her hand moved faster as the words poured out, unfiltered and raw.

I searched your name in my phone, read through our old messages just because it put a smile on my face. I started to type a message, but my pride held me back. “It’s pointless,” I told myself, tears welling up in my eyes. But there’s so much I want to say. So much that was left unsaid. And I’m scared… scared that what I have to say won’t matter, scared that you don’t feel the same.

She stopped, her pen hovering over the page. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but she kept going.

I’m writing this because I need you to know that I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For not giving you the chance to show me you cared. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was hurt the both of us. And now, I’m here, starting this new chapter of my life, and all I can think about is how much I wish you were here to share it with me.

By the time she finished, her hands were trembling, and her face was streaked with tears. She stared at the letter, her heart pounding. Was this a terrible idea? Was she opening a door that should stay closed? She didn’t know. But for the first time in weeks, she felt a sliver of relief. Like she’d finally let herself breathe.

Sliding the notebook aside, Teigen picked up her phone again. The message box was still open. She glanced at it, then at the letter. Maybe this was enough for tonight. Maybe not. Either way, she’d taken the first step. And for now, that would have to be enough.