With one last breath, I seal my letter into an envelope and carefully take each step downstairs in stride, reaching for the doorknob of the front door, the pale moonlight shining on my skin.

I can hear the doubts clouding my mind, telling me to close the door and turn around. This is my last chance to back out and erase Gray from my memory.

I refuse to keep listening to the doubts screaming inside me. I want Gray in my life. I need him in my life, and I can't keep getting in my own way. How can I pass up the chance of happiness waiting on the receiving end of this letter?

So, I step off the front porch, gulp back my apprehensions, and cross the cul-de-sac. All I have to do is slip this little envelope, with one word, "Gray," written on the front, into the Pierce's mailbox.

And I do.

And I close the mailbox.

And I walk back inside.

And I crawl in bed with a small ounce of hope beating in my chest.