The Reply She Never Sent

Marnie was clearing old drafts from her email account when she found a message she had never sent. It was addressed to Adrian, dated almost six years earlier, and the subject line simply read "About Saturday."

She remembered writing it. Adrian had asked her, hesitantly, whether she wanted to try being more than friends, and she had promised to think about it. She had drafted an answer that night, then closed her laptop, telling herself she would finish it in the morning. By the time she opened it again, three days had passed, and the silence had already done the damage the words were meant to prevent.

Reading it now, she was surprised by how honest it was. "I've been thinking about this for weeks," she had written, "and I think I've been too scared to say what I actually want." She must have known, even then, that hesitation would be its own answer.

Adrian had eventually stopped waiting. He had married someone else two years later, and Marnie had told herself she was happy for him, which was mostly true. What she hadn't told herself was that she still wondered, sometimes, what would have happened if she had pressed send.

She typed his name into a search bar, not sure what she expected to find, and learned his marriage had quietly ended the previous spring. It wasn't an invitation. It wasn't even really her business. But it was information, and information had a way of reopening doors she had assumed were sealed.

She didn't send the old email. Instead, she wrote a new one, shorter, that only said she had been thinking of him and hoped he was doing well. If she sent it, she thought, it could easily be ignored, and that would be a kind of answer too.

Her cursor hovered over the button for a long moment. Then, before she could talk herself out of it again, she clicked send, and let six years of silence finally end.