| Chapter One |
Someday I’ll forgive myself. Everyone says so. They say I can’t live with this guilt forever, that no one deserves to live with this level of regret. The past is gone, long gone, I must free myself of it. And I will free myself of it, they say, because time heals; the sun will surely rise no matter how long and cold the night. I’m grateful to them for saying it, but I doubt it’ll happen; I’m just not convinced I’ll ever stop asking myself questions that begin with “what if.” What if I’d never gotten into that car? What if I’d pulled out of the driveway five minutes earlier, or ten minutes later? What if I’d decided to skip the gym that morning? Why didn’t I just sleep in? Such thoughts and wonderings, they’re endless. I try to wrestle my mind away from them, but too often I fail and let myself ponder. What would I give to return to that place and undo it all.
In the days and weeks after the accident, when I was in the worst darkness I’ve ever fallen into, everyone from my father and brother to my friends told me to show myself compassion, to not forget that I’m a good person. My former therapist said that the kindest thing I could do was to remember that one act cannot define anyone, that what happened that day will never define me. Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did what I did and it can never be undone—that is what makes it so hard for me to forgive myself. I can’t change the past and that fills me with such remorse. Slowly, I’m beginning to accept that the act of forgiving oneself is an impossibility for all but the most liberated of souls, and me, I’m no liberated soul, much as I yearn to be.
Why am I writing you this letter, then, if there’s little chance I’ll ever forgive myself? It’s possible you won’t even read this, but I’m writing it either way because I need to. My new therapist discouraged me from contacting you. He said I still have a lot more healing to do before I should consider meeting you. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met Shiraz. I imagine Shiraz told you everything? He was so kind to me, far more than I deserved that day.
I couldn’t sleep the night after I met him, I knew I had to write to you, there’s so much I wanted to say to you directly, so I started this letter. This is the seventh or eighth draft of it, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever written. If you end up getting this and reading it, I hope you won’t be mad at Shiraz for bringing it to you, it’s all completely my fault, everything that has led us to this moment is my fault, and for that I will be eternally sorry.
For three years I’ve been dreaming of meeting you.
Actually, I’ve been having nightmares about meeting you. In most of the dreams, you’re about to kill me. We’re in some awful-looking place and I’m on my knees, or there are walls and I can’t escape. You have a gun, and I can tell I’m about to get my punishment. I never see your face, but I know that if there’s one person on this earth who would want to watch me suffer and die, it would be you. I’ve never liked the word
hate, not since I was a child, because my father discouraged us from using it at home. It’s too strong a word, he would say, use something lighter. Now, sadly, I understand why the word exists—who wouldn’t hate me in your position?
I have no right to ask anything of you, but if you’re ever interested in meeting me, I’ll do everything possible to meet you wherever works best for you, whenever you’d like. I’m desperate for your forgiveness but asking for it in a letter doesn’t seem adequate, I very much wish to do so in person. I can’t imagine how hard meeting me will be for you, but I promise I’ll do my best to not make it any harder. I’ll make every effort to stay composed as I ask you if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me. And if you tell me that you’ll never forgive me, I’ll completely understand.
You owe me nothing. I owe you everything.
I can’t bring back what you lost, so why would you even want to meet with me? What good would meeting me do for you? I don’t know. I can’t say I’ll come with anything but a load of sadness. I can’t even say that I’m sure meeting you will help me much, but I must tell you to your face how sorry I am, how broken my heart still is for you, for your family, for all who suffered because of that day and continue to suffer because of it. My pain is nothing compared to yours, but in the most terrible way, our broken hearts will be forever linked. My therapist reminded me again last session that it was an accident. Accidents happen, he said. You didn’t intend to harm anyone; you didn’t set out that day to destroy anyone’s life. And yet, destroy I did. It hurts so much.
I wonder, often, how you’re doing. I’m not the most praying person, but every year, on the anniversary, I say a prayer for you. I pray that you’ve found a measure of peace, however small. I pray that you’ve found new sources of joy, even if it all greatly pales in comparison to the joy you once had. I pray, also, that your memories of that awful day and the days and weeks after are receding, and the ones of the happier days you had before the accident are now more dominant in your mind. I pray for you by name, because I may not know much about you, but I know your name. And I’ll never forget her name. Such a beautiful name. I’ve never dared to google either one of you, though I’m curious about what her name means and who she was besides the name and the face that the media reported. I imagine all the wonderful things she surely was, and that alone is enough to multiply my sorrow.
Will I feel better if you tell me that you’re doing much better than I think you might be? Gosh, yes. I’ll be beside myself with gratitude if I find out that you and your loved ones are making a recovery, but I’m not asking for a meeting to assuage my guilt. I’m not asking to meet so I can convince myself that despite my action everything will be all right for you and your family. Everything will never be all right. We’ll never be all right. But maybe we’ll find some kind of healing if we meet? Maybe you offering me forgiveness will lighten each of our loads a little bit? Please know that if you decide not to meet me, I’ll hold nothing against you. I’ll tell myself that perhaps the time isn’t right for you. But if on any day you’re ready, my email address and phone number are at the top of this page. If you ever feel ready, name the place and time and I’ll be there.
With a broken heart,
Victoria Snow
Copyright © 2026 by Imbolo Mbue. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
