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
