I left my son.
I was a bad mother.
I abandoned my role and slipped back into a girl who missed her boy with every frisson of her soul.
I didn’t know how long I walked, but finally, when the shadow strings of willow leaves enveloped me and the grotto where so many things had happened whispered it would keep me safe, I sank to the earth and opened the book.
The first page was copyright jargon.
The second, print information.
The third, the title.
The fourth…the dedication.
For Della and Jacob.
I keeled over, rocking the book to my chest, sobs wrenched from my very toes.
No.
I hadn’t cried this badly…well, since the funeral.
I never let myself go.
Never could.
Never allowed.
I had to be strong for Jacob.
But that strength was now shattered and in pieces on the ground.
Four simple words.
Four words that broke me.
They broke me.
Ren.
His voice danced on the breeze as if he’d never gone. His wild scent of smoke and freedom swirled in my lungs. And the gentle, delicious pressure of his hand on my cheek forced me to look down at the pages, tear smudged and turning translucent.
Read, the breeze murmured.
Listen, the willow whispered.
Heal, the forest begged.
With another sob, I flipped the page.
A letter to the reader.
A letter from beyond.
Dear Reader,
First, let me explain the nature of this book before I can explain it to my wife.
Once upon a time, a wonderful girl fell in love with an unworthy boy, and she decided to write their tale.
Her tale opened that stupid boy’s eyes.
It made true love leap over rules and boundaries.
It survived years wrapped in plastic and protected at all costs in a well-travelled backpack.
It was the best tale the boy had ever read.
But it was also missing something.
It was missing the side of the story from the boy who fell in love with the girl, but he wasn’t as eloquent as she.
So he had to improvise.
He enlisted the help of a ghost writer to turn messy dictated thoughts into words worthy of being beside hers, and he didn’t have a lot of time to do it.
It was my hardest secret.
And even now, I’m unsure I did the right thing.
But it’s too late to change my mind. Too late to approve or deny the finished copy.
I just have to hope our story is enjoyed.
And I have to trust that every word I chose proves the same thing her words do.
That I loved her.
Painfully so.
The words danced and bounced as my hands shook and shook.
Sobs and heaving quakes took hold of me as I turned the page and found yet another letter.
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t prepared.
I would never be ready to say goodbye because that was what this was.
A goodbye.
A final farewell organised in secrecy.
My Dear Beloved Ribbon,
I hope you can forgive me for taking our privacy and making it public.
I hope you can understand why I had to do it and why it had to be this way.
And I hope you can still love me for not being there to hold you.
For not being able to stop the pain.
This wasn’t an easy thing to do—I almost stopped countless times.
But after years of watching over your shoulder as you typed, reading the paragraphs you chose, and feeling the love you had for me, it was finally my turn.
My turn to write you a love story.
And, God, what a love story it is.
You were the air I breathed and the life in my heart, Della.
You are the sole reason I existed and always will be.
Without you, I would never have been a father, brother, or husband.
Without you, I would never have known exquisite joy and utter heartbreak.
Without you, I would have been nothing.
And because of you…I am something.
I am loved.
I am missed.
I am wanted.
I was sold to the Mclary’s for one purpose and one purpose only.
To find you.
And I’ll find you again…soon.
This isn’t the end…we both know that.
I’ll be waiting…somewhere.
I’ll be watching…somehow.
And when the time comes for you to join me, I’ll gather you in my arms and hold you tight.
Come find me.
Come find me on the meadow where the sun always shines, the river always flows, and the forest always welcomes.
Come find me, Little Ribbon, and there we’ll live for eternity.
And now, because I can’t stand to leave this tale so unfinished, please read the end.
The end I wrote for you.
Until we meet again…
I love you.
I closed the book.
Unable to read more.
Not prepared to endure more pain.
One day, I would read it.
But not today.
Today, I needed to grieve…truly grieve.
To weep and wail and admit that there would always be a piece of me forever broken. A piece of me that would always be lost until my dying breath delivered me back to my loved one.
But even in my grief, I had responsibilities. I had a son who missed his father, and I had a world that needed to continue.
So, as I clawed my way to my feet, hugged Ren’s book to my chest, and stepped from the willow’s comforting fronds, I made a promise to keep going.
To do what Ren had said.
To let go…if only for a second.
My eyes fell on Jacob.
He sat in the middle of the hay field, golden all around him, gold sun above him, gold future ahead of him, and my heart did what it hadn’t been able to do. What I never believed I was capable of.
It healed…just a little.
It accepted…just a little.
Our love story wasn’t over.
It was just…paused.
With my white dress fluttering around my legs, I strode into the sunlight, carrying truth and heartache and everlasting love.
I was lucky.
Eternally lucky to have loved and cherished and adored.
And when that day came when this life was over, I would find that love again.
I would go home to him.
Because our story had never been about a fleeting romance or fairy-tale. It had always been about life.
It was about love.
It was about the journey from nothing to something.
The travels from individual to pair.
The adventure from empty to whole.
And that was what transformed mortal into magic.
It was what songs were made of.
What hearts were formed of.
What humans were born to become.
The sun shone brighter, drenching buttery light everywhere it touched.
The paddock was almost ready for baling.
The land providing routine and clockwork timing.
And as my son looked up from feeling my eyes upon him, he waved just like Ren used to. His hand switched into a come-hither, and I went.
I held my head tall. I let my tears fall. I allowed myself the freedom to love in all its painful, exquisite heartache.
And when I reached him, I sat in the wildflowers and hugged him.
He hugged me back, fiercely, healingly. “Did you read the end like he said?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“You should.” He kissed my cheek as we pulled apart, so wise, so brave, so pure. “If he to
ld you to, you should.”
I laughed gently. “Just like I did everything he told me, huh?”
“Yep.” He smirked, growing serious again. “There’s a whole box of books there. You should at least read one of them.”
“Maybe.”
“But what if it’s good?”
“Then it will be good when I’m ready.”
“But what if it makes you happy?”
I swallowed another wash of tears. “You make me happy. I don’t need anything else.”
He looked down, running his small hand through the blades of grass. “I miss him.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He picked a purple flower and held it to me. “Would you read me the story? If Dad wrote it, and you haven’t read it either, it’s kinda like him coming back, right?”
My chest squeezed as I took his gift and twirled the pretty petals. “Just because there are pages with his words on them doesn’t mean he’s alive, Wild One.”
“I know. But…” He looked up earnest and imploring and hopeful. “I think he would want you to read it.”
“I know.”
“Can I read it?”
“Not until I know what he’s written.” I tapped his nose, so similar to mine. “Not sure if it’s suitable for eleven-year-old nosy parkers.”
He grinned. “I think he’d let me read it.”
“I think you’re getting too bossy.”
“I think you’re afraid.”
I sucked in a breath, jerking back a little.
He noticed, crawling closer and hugging me tight. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
It took a moment for me to swallow my sobs. “You’re right, Jacob. I am afraid.”
We sat huddled together for a while, letting the sun warm us even when the hollowness in my heart was always cold.
Finally, Jacob pulled away. “Read it, ’kay? Don’t leave him in the box.”
A tear escaped. “Okay.”
“You will?”
“I will. I’ll be brave. I owe him that much.”
He nodded. “Yep and then you can read it to me.”
I smiled, doing my best not to let my mind run away with questions. What had Ren done? What ending had he written? “We’ll see.”
Standing, I took his hand in mine and headed toward the house.
Jacob squeezed my fingers with yet another question. “Even though he’s gone…he would want us to be happy, right, Mom?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s watching us right now?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Do you think he’s happy watching us?”
I pictured Ren somewhere free in the forest, peering through leaves and fantasy to protect us from afar. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, that settles it then.” His hand slipped from mine as he ran toward the house shouting, “Read it tonight. And maybe you’ll be happy, too.”
EPILOGUE CONT
DELLA
* * * * * *
2033
THAT NIGHT, ONCE I’d cooked for Jacob and we’d watched some movie of his choosing, I curled up in bed and reached for the book.
I didn’t want to.
I wasn’t ready.
But I’d made a promise to my son, and I couldn’t let my husband down.
The thought of Ren’s voice locked in a cardboard box, ready to share his secrets, prepared to shed light on shared circumstances was too sad to refuse.
It would be the hardest thing I’d done since scattering his ashes, but I owed him this.
I owed him my strength to listen.
Tears fell again as I cracked open the pages and re-read Ren’s letters.
I cried.
And cried.
And when my tears finally slowed, I sucked in a wobbly breath, gathered my courage, and pushed the heavy, sweet-smelling papers to the end.
One day, I would read the entire thing.
I would break my heart all over again all while being privileged enough to read the innermost thoughts of my husband. But for now, this book would sleep on his pillow beside me, something to hug when it all got too painful, something to stroke when I whispered to him in the dark.
One day, I would be ready.
But not today.
Today, I was barely clinging to sanity, shoved into the awkward admittance of wishing time away so I could find Ren sooner, all while begging the minutes to slow so I could have longer with Jacob.
Ren was a natural storyteller—his skills honed from years of telling me bedtime tales and indulging my every whim.
And tonight, just like old times, he was about to tell me a story.
Our story.
The only one I ever cared about.
The pages fell to the final chapter and I stroked the letters as I breathed, “Chapter Fifty-Nine. Ren, 2018.”
My mind skipped back to that time.
A time when emotions were daggers and youth diesel on the fiery burn of desire. Everything was sharper then, more urgent then, more desperate.
Countless memories unravelled, reminding me of what I’d done.
How I’d been so hurt I’d lost my virginity to another.
How I’d been so tangled in my unrequited agony that I’d broken Ren and myself.
Only…as my eyes skimmed Ren’s side of the tale, learning how much he loved me, how distraught he was as he left me that note and walked out the door, a strange smile twisted my tear-glossed lips.
The book didn’t end there.
It didn’t stop in a standalone of tragedy but led into a heart-happy duet.
And I understood what my brilliant husband had done.
And I was braver.
And I was thankful.
And my fractured heart glued a tiny piece back into place.
My fingers itched for my keyboard to finish the magic he’d begun.
A final letter was waiting for me.
This is where you come in, Della Ribbon.
You’ll get another box soon.
A box of chapters from the moment I admitted I was in love with you and kissed you for the first time to the second we got married, held our son, and grew as a family.
I’ve been honest. I’ve shared everything.
Now, it’s your turn.
Finish our story, Della.
But this one, blend fact with a tiny piece of fiction.
Call the book The Girl and Her Ren—because that is what I am.
I am yours.
But fashion our story where we found that miracle.
A story where I was healed, grew old, and lived.
And at the end, insert this final paragraph:
“And there, as the sun set on the summer meadow, Della Ribbon turned to her Ren, and said, ‘I’m pregnant with your daughter. I suppose you get to choose a girl’s name now.’
Her husband turned to her, happy, overjoyed, madly in love and kissed her.
They kissed for days because they knew no time could stop them.
And when they broke apart, he said, ‘I love you, Della, forever and for always.’
And they had that daughter.
They had a family.
They were forever bound through marriage and true love.
Together.”
And then, if our story is ever made into a film, the credits will roll.
And the music will play.
And the audience will know…
That Della Ribbon and her Ren lived
happily
ever
after.
THE END
Thank you for trusting me and coming on this journey.
I hope you enjoyed Ren and Della’s tale…despite the pain.
NOTE TO THE READER:
WHY DID YOU KILL OFF THE MAIN HERO?
Ever since the moment Ren and Della popped into my head, I knew how it would end. Ren was rather adamant that his tale would be based firmly in reality. And, unfortunately, reality isn’t kind.
It was hone
stly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. On a daily basis, I worried if I was doing the right thing. I’d wake up with panic attacks wondering if I’d upset my readers. And if it would be career suicide to do such an ending. But, each time I tried to prevent Ren from dying, he’d just throw it back in my face, and I knew I had to be BRAVE. That I had to accept this book wouldn’t be for everyone. And hope that, despite its bittersweet ending, the story of Ren and Della Wild would find the audience it’s meant to find.
I hope, regardless of the tears, you were able to see the story for what it was.
Brutal, heart-breaking, but somehow uplifting, knowing love never dies.
I’m extremely grateful you read to this point and accepted that this story is firmly based in life. We all have different versions of happily ever after. Some last for ever, some last for a while, and some don’t last at all. But in the end, true love carries on and I am a firm believer that once bound together, we will find each other again. Either through reincarnation, heaven, or some other divine intervention.
WHY DIDN’T REN AND DELLA HAVE ANY MORE CHILDREN?
The Ribbon Duet is the first story I’ve told where I’ve taken no liberties or added some ‘slightly fantastical’ element that perhaps wouldn’t happen in real life. I didn’t want to do that with this. I needed it to be fully realistic, and the reality is, by the time Della had Jacob, Ren was severely ill again, and then submitted to an extensive course of Chemo. I didn’t feel it would be realistic for him to be able to make her pregnant a second time.
Obviously, miracles happen, but he’d already been given a miracle by far outlasting the usual prognosis for his disease.
WHY ARE THERE ENGLISH PHRASES & SPELLING IN A BOOK BASED IN THE USA?
First, I am fully aware that there is English Spelling and English Terminology in this book (because I’m English and also live in an English spelling country). It wasn’t a typo or laziness on my part. I wrote it that way because those are the phrases I use and with The Boy & His Ribbon and The Girl & Her Ren, I turned off all thoughts and just WROTE.
Once the stories were on paper, I went over and changed all the spelling to US, started to remove phrases and words that aren’t common in the USA and began ‘Americanising it.’
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