"Hey," I nod, not wanting to make small talk.

"Hey," she answers back awkwardly.

Pressing my lips together, I nod and turn away. Okay, that was uncomfortable.

"Carter, I'm surprised to see you here," Hollyn says as she struts toward me, her bright red hair smoothly hanging by her shoulders. I thought about asking her out before I started seeing Sasha but when I found out she was engaged, I kept my distance. And then when she lost her husband, I took an even bigger step back, not just because she was grieving, but because she turned into a raving bitch.

I can't stand the woman and can you guess it? She can't stand me either. Maybe it's the combination of two volatile people coming together that makes us rather explosive. My uncle knows better than to have us working the same shifts, and if we have to, we are separated as much as possible. Why he keeps her around, I have no clue. My guess: he feels sorry for her.

"You know why I'm here," I say back as she takes a seat next to Snowflake, who is fidgeting with the straps of her overalls.

"Never thought your uncle would follow through with his threat." She talks over Daisy who is awkwardly between us.

"Bullshit," I seethe. "You suggested this hoax of a program just to fuck with me. I'm just wondering why you're doing it?"

"If we can all take our seats, I would like to get started," the lady from registration cuts in, putting an end to the short conversation between Hollyn and me.

Leaning forward for a brief second to catch my eye, Hollyn says, "Just stay away from me."

"Easy enough, I'd rather not catch the venom seeping from your pores anyway."

Hollyn rolls her eyes, huffs some retort under her breath I can't quite hear, and leans back in her chair, arms crossed.

Snowflake taps her feet on the ground, her hands on her thighs now, rubbing them nervously. "So, it seems like you two know each other," she announces awkwardly.

"Perceptive," I mumble sarcastically as a man in a baseball cap and glasses sits next to me. His body is quite broad, taking up a lot of the space between our chairs. I find myself leaning closer to Snowflake so I don't have to be kissing shoulders with the guy.

"Welcome. My name is Marleen, and I'll be your mediator for this course. Under your chairs you'll find guidance packets for each and every one of you. These materials will help you through this program for the next few months. In there you'll find pens, letters, envelopes, and a task booklet. Please do not lose these materials or share them, they are for you and you alone."

Everyone is bending over to reach for their packets so I do the same because, hell, I want to know what kind of free pen I get. Enter sarcasm here.

"Oh, what lovely stationery," Snowflake coos next to me, running her hand over the notepad found in the packet. A pocket full of sunshine, this one.

"Since we have such a large group, we're going to break off into smaller circles." Well, isn't that great. "I'll section you off." To my horror, Marleen starts grouping everyone together by where they are sitting. Mapping off the room in my head and the pattern Marleen is making, I realize I'll be grouped with not only Snowflake, but Hollyn as well.

"And you four," Marleen says, pointing at the guy next to me, me, Snowflake, and Hollyn. Yup, just when I thought I'd hit rock bottom. "Now, within your groups, form little circles and introduce yourselves. Please remember the NDAs you signed earlier and be friendly, your group will also be your support circle."

Fantastic.

Chairs scraping echo in the church hall as everyone forms their own intimate circles. I make no attempt to move, because I'm a dick like that, and force everyone to form around me. Awkwardly, we all shift our eyes from one another to see who's going to start, everyone besides the guy in the baseball cap who doesn't seem to want to interact just as much as me.

"I guess I'll start," Snowflake says after a bout of silence. "Um, hi. My name is Daisy. Do we have to say why we're here?"

Marleen overhears Daisy's question and answers, "That's entirely up to you. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Oh." Daisy acknowledges Marleen and turns back to us, her hands twisting in her lap. "Um, I'm here to start a new chapter."

Vague. Anyone could really say they're here to start a new chapter but I won't call her out on that because I will use the same bullshit line. Key to making it through this program . . . faking it.

Looking around, Hollyn points at herself and asks, "My turn?" We don't answer so instead she sits up in her chair and says, "I'm Hollyn." We wait for her to continue but she doesn't. "That's it. I'm Hollyn. Move on."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Snowflake blush. Is she embarrassed for saying why she's here when Hollyn didn't?

Peeking up from under the bill of his hat, the stranger acknowledges our group for the first time. Recognition hits me before he can say his name.

Jace Fucking Barnes, the shortstop for the Colorado Miners. No wonder they made us sign NDAs.

"Hey, I'm Jace and I'm, uh," he pulls on the bill of his hat clearly uncomfortable, "I'm in a bad place right now and need a way to get through it."

Visibly affected, he leans forward, hands clasped together, forearms resting on his legs, and his head down. Growing up in Denver my entire life, I've become a diehard fan for my local teams, the Colorado Miners being one of them. I watch as many games as I can and am immersed in each team, to the point that I know an embarrassing amount of information about the players. I know Jace is a pretty easy-going, fun guy. He's a prankster and very casual in his interviews. However, that's not the Jace I'm seeing right now. The Jace sitting next to me looks tortured.

What the hell could he be going through?

"Your turn," Hollyn rudely says in my direction. Her arms are crossed over her chest, radiating bitch vibes.

Slouching in my chair, I take a casual stance and say, "I'm Carter, and I can't wait to write some fucking letters."

From the corner of my eye, I see Jace nod his head, a slight chuckle in his shoulders. Hollyn and Snowflake look less than thrilled by my comment. Snowflake seems like she wants to shrink into her ill-fitting overalls.

"I hope you've had time to introduce yourselves," Marleen cuts in with a clap of her hands. "You will become well acquainted with one another over the next few months, leaning on one another for support and guidance."

"Great," Hollyn mutters under her breath, eyeing me up and down.

Feeling is mutual, sister.

Getting serious, Marleen folds her hands in front of herself and says, "We are all here for a reason, whether you want to talk about it now or not, that's up to you and your comfort level. But you are here to make a change, to explore something new, to find acceptance for your past, and create a new future."

God, I'm so not interested in this right now.

For the next half hour, Marleen lays out the groundwork for the program, what we should expect and what's expected from us. There will be a series of challenges we must complete and write about-joy-and we're required to attend all meetings.

Marleen continues, "The point of this program is to address what life has given you, the cards you've been dealt. It's not about complaining about what you're going through, but about accepting it and making the most of the life you have. Living life with a purpose, proving your existence." She pauses and looks around the room. Emphasizing her words, she repeats, "Prove your existence. That's your new motto to live by. What did you do today to prove your existence, what are you doing tomorrow to prove your existence in this world?"

Prove my existence. Isn't that ironic. That's what I'm fucking trying to do, but my uncle is making it practically impossible to do so with his low pay and overbearing eye. And thanks to Sasha . . .

Continuing, Marleen says, "Proving your existence every day isn't about making a grand gesture, or achieving a goal, it's about the small things. It's about getting out of bed, living in the positive, and making the most of the life you've been blessed with. Today, you proved your existence by coming to this program, by taking a leap into the unknown, by meeting new people. Tomorrow, it may be something as simple as writing a letter to life. Proving your existence is about the intent of taking one smaller step toward your goals in life." Glancing around the room with her hands clasped in front of her and a sincere look on her face, she says, "I know why some of you are here. I know the struggle you may be enduring, the depression you might be in, or the nervousness of the unknown." Marleen looks at Snowflake for a second and then addresses the room again. "Whatever brings you here today, be sure to know, you're not in this alone."

Beside me, Snowflake nods her head, as if what Marleen is preaching is hitting her straight to the soul. Hmm, she wants to start a new chapter. Despite not wanting to be emotionally invested in anything, I can't help but be curious. What is going through Snowflake's mind? Whatever affected her can't be that drastic. She's far too simple and sheltered to have experienced true hard knocks.

"Today isn't about fixing anything though," Marleen says, pacing the room, her one-inch heels clicking across the lacquered floors. "Today is about grieving. Today is about accepting why you're here and being mad about it. Today is the one day in this program that you're allowed to be angry, to lash out, to allow the pain you've been carrying around to seep from your soul and onto the paper in front of you. Through the course of this program, you'll be writing to life, explaining your thoughts and feelings, like a journal. It will be a cathartic experience for those truly invested in this program." Clapping her hands together, the sound echoing through the sterile cinder-block walls of the room, she adds, "It's time to grieve. Leave it all out on the paper. Take this moment and let go of the worries, the fears, the demons. Lay it all out. Because the point of this program is to move on, to create anew, but you can never truly and freely move on until you fully feel your anger. Let your anger consume you, let it eat you up and then write it all out, leak it onto the paper. Take your time, and when you're done, drop off your letters into the box up front."

What? We don't keep the letters? Who wants some random person reading their letters? And who the hell has the job of reading them?

"Don't worry," Marleen continues. "Your letters won't be touched. They are sealed by you and will stay sealed."

Well, that solves that small panic. Thank fuck.

"For the rest of the evening, you are welcome to talk to your group or just write your letters. Either way, I want you to bundle the anger you've been harboring and bleed it out. Please be sure to see your goal for the upcoming weeks and be prepared for the next meeting. If you have any questions, you have my contact information in the folder."

With that, Marleen tends to her desk where she sits down and starts sifting through the NDAs. Other groups begin to quietly chat while our circle sits in silence.

"Um, can I say something?" Snowflake chimes in as we all stare at the blank gender-neutral stationery in front of us. No one answers her but we do give her our attention. "I haven't really been exposed to many social settings, so this is incredibly uncomfortable for me, and I might be a little off-base when I say this, but I'm going to go for it anyway." Turning to Jace she says, "From the darkness in your eyes, I have a feeling you're really going through something heavy, and Hollyn, it's obvious that you're hurting from how closed off you are." Turning to me she flippantly says, "And it's obvious you don't want to be here for who knows what reason, but I want to be here. I want to make a change, so instead of all of us sulking and being closed off, why don't we make a pact now. Let this program be our New Year's resolution. Let's hold each other accountable and take this program seriously because if anything, we can at least appreciate the need for something to change in our lives."

Isn't she just adorable with her go-get-'em attitude? The girl has a lot to learn. I'm about to say something sarcastic when Jace sits back in his chair and nods his head.

"She's right. If we're going to be here, let's make the most of it." Come on, Jace.

"I'm in," Hollyn says with a shrug of her shoulder, looking slightly excited but trying not to show it. No surprise there, she likes to jump on the bandwagon.

Looking around the circle, I ask, "Is this where we all put our hands in the middle and cheer?"

"Don't be a dick, Carter," Hollyn chastises.

I smirk, pen poised on my stationery. "I'm not, just a wondering mind, that's all."

"So it's settled?" Snowflake asks, hope in her eyes. "We're going to do it? Our New Year's resolution?"

"Yes," Hollyn and Jace say together.

Everyone turns to me, waiting for my answer. Knowing I have no way of getting out of this, I succumb. "I guess so."

"Yay!" Snowflake cheers and then pulls out her cell phone. "Now I just got this the other day so I don't know how to use it, but let's pass our phones around so we can get each other's phone numbers, then let's write our letters." Shit no.

And here I thought working for my uncle was hell.

Dear Life, It's time to grieve. What does that even mean? As if I wasn't allowed to grieve before? I've been grieving for almost two years.

It's time to be mad. Well, too late for that. I'm past mad and downright pissed off. Why do you ask, Life? Let's see, I was married to the love of my life for a year, A YEAR before you took him away from me. Before your grand scheme of shitty plans took hold of my heart and snapped it in half.

How is that fair? How is it all right to let rapists and murderers and shitty people walk around this earth unscathed but then someone like my husband, a man who committed his life to serve, you let him die? You took him away. Tell me, please, how is that fair?

Oh, but sure, Petey Pedophile next door gets to live on and eat Rice-a-Roni on a daily basis while playing with his N64 because he can't seem to afford anything else.

Yup, thanks, Life, you sure know how to be fair. Thumbs up, pat on the back . . . thanks.

Sincerely, Hollyn Dear Life, Gosh, I've never written a letter to you before, so I might be a little awkward at first. Um, in case you didn't know, I'm Daisy. Grams raised me and taught me everything I know. Ask me anything about musicals, go ahead, I dare ya. I will blow your mind with my knowledge. But when it comes to being social and "hip," oh gosh, I'm so out of it.

I know nothing when it comes to today's life. Computers, cell phones, Panera, trampoline gyms . . . I had no clue any of this existed. There is so much out there that I've never experienced and it makes me sad.

I'm twenty-one. I've never had a drink, I've never really had a friend besides Grams, and I've never known what it's like to hold a man's hand.

I'm a hermit, a lost soul in a sea of modernized civilization.

Life, you've sheltered me and I've had enough. I want to be a part of the world today. I will be a part of the world today. Goodbye past, hello future!

Kind regards, Daisy Dear Life, Not much to say, not much to feel, not much to do.

I'm an empty fucking vessel right now. No heart, no soul, no legs to stand on.

You gave me a daughter, a DAUGHTER. A little girl full of so much love that it makes my heart bleed just thinking of her hand that so briefly wrapped around my finger.

But I wasn't ready. I couldn't give her what she needs. I couldn't be the parent she deserves, so I gave her up. I let her go. I gifted my soul to two women, hoping and praying they take care of her.

I know they will. But, it cuts me deep . . . knowing I can't be the one who kisses her goodnight, the one to brush her hair in the morning, or the one she clings to when she's tired. I will never be that person. I will instead watch her from a distance, a mere observer rather than a participator.

Life, you gave me a daughter when I wasn't fucking ready.

I wasn't fucking ready.

Jace Dear Life, Fuck you.

Carter

Step Two: Let Go

JACE.

Ten unread text messages burning a hole in my phone.

Ten messages with attached pictures.

Ten messages I have no intent on opening anytime soon.

But I can't get myself to delete them either. Not when I so desperately want to look at them.

What kind of psychotic mental episode is that? I want to see the pictures but I refuse to look at them? Pretty sure Dear Life won't be able to help me figure out my backward-thinking psychosis. I'm almost positive no one would be able to.

And yet, here I am, staring down at my phone, ten unread messages from June all containing pictures of Hope.

I kind of wish she'd stop sending them, that the agreement we finalized with the lawyer wasn't so open, that I was forced to wonder more about Hope than actually be able to see her. I don't deserve that privilege, even though I know she is in good hands.

"Hey, are you going to eat this?" Ethan asks from my kitchen, sniffing a pizza box he just pulled out of the fridge.

"No, have at it."

Peeking in, he fists pumps the air. "No olives, that's my man." Taking a huge bite of cold pizza, he asks, "So how was your class the other night?"

"It wasn't a class."