Then slowly, the letters began arriving less often.

Every week became every two weeks.

Every two weeks became once a month.

I assumed college was changing him.

But my life was changing too.

I was training to become a teacher.

I made new friends.

I went on dates.

Still, whenever anything important happened, Jeffrey remained the first person I wanted to tell.

Then, during his second year, he wrote about someone named Margaret.

She was studying nursing.

He said she was funny.

Smart.

Strong-willed.

He even wrote that he thought I would like her.

That was when I finally understood something I should have realized years earlier.

I loved Jeffrey.

I sat on my bedroom floor holding his letter and cried.

Not because he had done anything wrong.

But because I had waited until someone else came along before admitting the truth to myself.

That night, I began writing him a letter.