iru

...CAUSE YOU WERE NEVER MINE, NEVER MIND | spencer reid x female reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been best friends for years. he has always been in love with you but he never told you because he was scared to lose you. in the meantime you fell in love with another man and you are now getting married to him. you promised spencer you would dance with him after his best-man speech.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

word count: 4,6k

content warnings: fluff/angst. mention of wedding and a lot of yearning.

author's note: this is probably a bit inspired by a moment of sadness and by the love, rosie movie but there's no a super happy ending in here lol. as always my dear friend jem wrote this with me and as you can see we love angst. you can get updates on my twitter account @/spookyrydel. i hope yall enjoy this one shot the same way you enjoyed the first one!! more will come in the near future <3 thank you all smmmmmmmm!! and sorry if you might find some mistakes in here, english isn't our first language!

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 You’ve always imagined your wedding day would be perfect: no meltdowns, no breakdowns, no cliché doubts. You were sure it would be a straight-out-a-fairytale kind of situation, just you, the man of your dreams and endless happiness. 

You had everything that day – you fell in love with the man you were going to marry approximately 5 years ago, on a random Tuesday evening. 

You two have been walking on the beach for hours, and as you collapsed on the sand, he just let out a laughter and a “You’re an idiot, now you have sand everywhere”, you laughed back at him as he laid next to you on the sand, allowing you to cuddle on his chest as the sun began to settle behind the ocean. 

In that moment you knew, you had no doubts: you were in love.

The day of the proposal he asked you on that same square of sand you both cuddled that evening of late September, exactly on the same day five years later. 

“You, my love, are the one who changed completely the trajectory of my life. Exactly 1826 days ago i fell in love with you here, on this exact spot. 

I think I have always been in love with you, way before I met you on that random day in June, because when I used to imagine my dream girl as a child, somehow, she had your features. 

And if it’s real that the human brain cannot make up a face, and that you need to actually see it in real life in order to dream it, then maybe I loved you in every life before this.

So please, I would be the luckiest and happiest man alive if you allow me to love you in this life as well. 

Will you marry me?”

And with that you were absolutely certain of your judgment and about that man.

But, even when you’re sure of who you’re marrying, the “once in a lifetime” weight is hard to bear.

When you chose your dress, it immediately felt perfect on you, it was like you always imagined it; but the day of the wedding the dress doesn’t feel as magical as it did when you first cried in it. And if you’re unsure about a dress, how can you be sure about the man?

So, as you try on different earrings and none of them feels right as well you do the only thing that makes sense: you text your best friend.

“Spencer, come asap. I need help.”

As soon as he reads the text, he runs in the room you are in, panting and worried something happened to you. He opens the door and breathes hard, out of breath for the stairs he run onto reach you.

When he sees you, your hair up adorned with too many gems, the makeup on your face you don’t need, because you’re already stunning. He sees you and the scene takes his breath away, because you’re so beautiful, and so awfully unaware of his feelings.

“Hey, what happened?”

You look up at him, his face flushed for the run, his hair messy and his suit half on. You show him two pairs of earrings. 

“Pearls or gemstones?”

He stares, almost speechless, not sure if you’re serious and called him just for that of if you’re messing with him

 “You know I love you, but if this is just about earrings, I’m gonn—”

“I’m having doubts.” You cut him mid-sentence, almost whispering, as if you’re scared of your own thoughts.

“What?” He slowly walks in and sits beside you, pulling your head to rest on his chest. 

“What do you mean?”

You exhale. “I want to run. I don’t want to get married. I’m so damn scared, Spence. What If I’m not doing the right thing? What if tomorrow I meet another guy, a perfect one, and I have to give up on him because I’m already committed to another one? And God, I hate myself for even thinking about these things, because I should not, I should be certain.

I always told you how I wouldn’t have these clichés doubts, so the fact that I’m having these must mean something, right?”

He strokes your hair and stays silent for a couple of moments before talking in the softest voice you ever heard from him “You’re scared, that’s all. It’s a huge step, and those thoughts are called clichés for a reason: everybody, or almost so, has them. But I’ve seen you with him, how nervous you were on your first date, how you called me at 2 am when you first kissed him, and how you immediately run to me, literally jumping out of joy when he proposed you. I remember how you called him the love of your life so many times before.

And it’s okay if you are having doubts right now, because it means you care. Now look at me, please” 

You look up at him, and he stares at you, noticing how your eyes are full of unshredded tears. 

He cups your cheek and starts stroking it, leaving a soft trail of kisses on your forehead

“So now promise you go there, you walk down that aisle and be happy with the man you swore to love your whole life. And if someday it feels wrong, you come to me, and we figure it out. I promise, okay?”

You nod and let him cuddle you for another minute before getting up. You dress up and let him see you in the wedding gown for the first time, smiling shyly.

His breathe hitches once again, and then he just smiles 

“God, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. He’s gonna cry his eyes out once he sees you. Promise me just one dance later”

You smile again and nods “even two”.

With this, an hour later, he looks as you walk down the aisle to your soon-to-be husband. You look radiant, happy, too beautiful to be real, and he can’t help crying at the sight. 

He’s happy for you, he really is. But, at the same time he can’t stop thinking at all those feelings he suppressed for so long. 

His mind races as he watches you, walking toward the altar. The sunlight catches your hair, and everything feels surreal, like a moment trapped between reality and a dream. 

God, she looks perfect. Of course she does. She’s always been perfect.

How did he get there? Watching you, so effortlessly beautiful, so happy, and knowing he can never be the one standing beside you.

He glances at the groom, standing stiffly at the front, eager and expectant, oblivious to the storm of emotions whirling inside Spencer. The other man, the one who gets to call you his. The one you chose. He keeps looking at you as if you are the only girl who ever existed in the world, and this melts Spencer’s heart because, after all, that man sees you in the same way he does. 

He had always known this day would come, but knowing and living it are two very different things. The reality of it hits like a punch in the gut. His best friend, the woman who had been the center of his world for as long as he could remember, now belongs to someone else. 

But that’s what happens when you love someone in silence, isn't it? You learn to hide it. To bury it deep. You become an expert at pretending. Pretending that everything is fine, even when it’s not.

Maybe he should’ve listened to his mother when she used to say that he had to act on his feelings when he still was in time, when you weren’t walking down and waiting to be in another man’s arms. 

Five years ago, he should have told you. 

“You don’t really like anyone?” You asked him, as you two were sitting together at the library. You nudged his shoulder, a gentle smile on your face.

You. I like you. I have always liked you. That’s what Spencer would have liked to tell you. Actually, he wanted to scream it from a rooftop, from the top of the highest cliff in the world. But he couldn’t. How could he risk losing you? So he just shook his head.

“No. I would have told you if that was the case.” He said, giving you the smallest smile before nudging you back. 

You chuckled. “Well, whoever she is or will be… she will be very lucky to be loved by you, Spence.” If only you knew.

But now, as you are walking towards him, the weight of those words he never told you crushes him. He never told you how much he loved you. Not in the way that mattered. 

He never told you how beautiful you were when you thought you looked like a mess.

He never told you how you made everything seem easier, bearable.

He never told you how much hearing your laugh could heal something in him that he didn’t even know it was broken.

He never got to tell you that I did like someone—no, loved someone. And that was you.

But he always looked at you from a far, as if you were the most precious star that the sky had. Like Dante did with Beatrice.

What the hell was I thinking?

He recalls your college years, your late-night talks that turned into mornings spent in each other's arms—nothing romantic, nothing that ever suggested he might love you. 

Or at least, nothing he ever said aloud. 

How could he tell you when he knew it would ruin everything? That’s what he convinced himself, anyway. You’d never see him that way, right?

But it wasn’t just that. It was the fear of losing you. The thought of you slipping away, of never having you at all. 

It was safer and more comforting to have you just as a friend, because at least you were in his life. 

Now, as you approach the altar, he feels something inside him crumble. Not just for what he’s losing, but for what he never even had the chance to fight for. It’s like mourning something that never got the chance to get birthed.

“I’m happy for you” he thinks, staring at your face, glowing with happiness “I’m so happy that you’re happy. But why the hell does it have to hurt so much?”

You are going to marry him. The man who made you laugh, the man who knows you in all the ways Spencer never could. 

And the worst part is that he doesn’t even have the right to be angry. You are doing exactly what you should do. What you want to do. And he can’t fault you for that.

The tears threaten again, but he swallows them back, focusing on the image of you.

He had promised to be there for you no matter what. He just never expected the "no matter what" to feel like this.

Would things be different if he had asked you out all those years ago? Would he be the one standing beside you? Waiting for you at the altar? Worshipping the ground you walk on?

He knows that now is too late and that you’ll never be his. 

And maybe it was supposed to go like that.

You are happy, right? That’s what matters.

But for now, for this fleeting moment, he’ll hold onto the promise you made to him, that you owe him one single dance.

And maybe, in the end, that’s enough.

“I love you”

He whispers, because in that moment those simple words are too real, and they weight way too much on his heart to remain untold.

At the reception, Spencer is sitting in the same table as your relatives, your mom, your dad, your sister and some of your aunts and uncles. “You are like family—even more if that’s possible. At least you are funnier than my aunt Mary, that’s for sure.” You told him a few months ago, as he was helping you out for how to fix the table seats for your wedding reception. He insisted he could leave his seat for someone who was actually related to you, but you glared at him as you personally offended him.

So here he was, sitting next to your sister, as she keeps on rambling about the fact that her girlfriend (now ex) broke up with her just two weeks before the wedding, while on the other side your uncle Jo is teasing him about some “”hot chicks”” that “have been winking at him since he stepped in the restaurant”” (they really weren’t, but how can Spencer be so sure? It’s not like he has been looking at anything else, someone else beside you).

You.

Do you even know how beautiful you look right now?

You were taking his breath away, and he hated you for that.

How can someone be so close yet so far?

“Did you already write down your speech?” You asked him weeks ago, while he was trying on some suits that made him feel absolutely ridiculous—because in his mind no clothes could ever fit him nicely. 

He looked at you, furrowing his eyebrows, while trying to fix his tie. “What speech?” “What do you mean what speech?”

“I mean what I asked. What speech?” He asked again, confused. You sighed and stood up from your spot, getting closer to fix his tie while he was trying to hide the effect this was having on his poor heart.

“The best-man-speech. Haven’t you ever heard of it?” Then it clicked. “I—Is it really a thing? I thought it only happened in romantic comedies with Julia Roberts.” You giggled, shaking your head.

“You have jokes now? It really is a thing. I expect you to give the best speech ever.” “But you know I’m extremely anxious, I mean—your whole family is going to be here, and your other friends, your fiancé’s—I mean, statistically—“

You cut him off. “Oh no, don’t give me that. I do not need to hear numbers, I need to hear sweet words coming from your mouth.” He sighed, but a small smile creeped on his face. “Okay, you will have your speech.” “And don’t embarrass me.” “I’ll try my best”.

After that conversation Spencer started to write down his speech. Actually he had to re-write it 17 times. Yes, seventeen. And the first time he tried to write down something he wrote down 52 pages. 52 pages full of love and affection and still—they weren’t enough to describe what you are for him.

But then he realized that it would take him at least one hour (normal speed) to recite by memory the whole thing. And maybe it really wasn’t the case.

Spencer is now standing at the center of the hall, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping a champagne flute. His clothes are starting to feel itchy, his tie is feeling too tight around his neck. His palms are sweaty and he feels gross.

But he can’t back down now, can he? Not when you are looking at him that way.

He clears his throat and glances at the napkin in his hand—not that he needs it. He remembers everything. But nerves are nerves.

You smile from your table, hair a bit messy from all the dancing. Your husband leans back, glowing. He is so in love with you, and so is Spencer.

Spencer smiles, too.

“Hi, I’m Spencer Reid, and I’m the best man. Which is funny, since I’ve never really been ‘the best’ at anything outside IQ scores or Jeopardy.” The room chuckles. “I think most of you know me anyway—I have been around for quite some time. You probably heard me rambling about the periodic table during the main dish. Sorry for that.” He says, making the room chuckle again. Good sign.

“But when I met our gorgeous bride, I started to understand a different kind of intelligence. The kind that comforts you at 2 a.m. when life feels too big—too much. The kind that doesn’t find stupid the fact that someone, which happens to be me, wears mismatched socks because his mom once told him that it could bring luck. The kind of intelligence that makes you feel seen. Like you are worth it. The kind that remembers everyone’s coffee order but still loses her keys and it takes her hours to find them—just to realize they were in her purse for the whole time. The kind that holds people together without even realizing it.”

He glances at you, his voice softening. You look at him, your eyes glossy, your hand squeezing your husband’s.

“She’s been my best friend for years. Actually—she was the one and only best friend I ever had. I don’t think this surprises you all, I mean, who would willingly be stuck with me for years? I still think someone bribed her with money for that.” Another laugh erupted from the room. Good.

“We’ve survived degrees, heartbreaks—mostly hers, honestly. She was kinda the heartbreaker and had the worst taste when it came to men—no offense buddy.” He says, looking at your husband. He just raises his hands and laughs. “We’ve survived jobs, bad apartments, and worse haircuts—mine, mostly.” Another laugh.

“But one thing never changed—being around her has always felt like home. Not walls and a roof—real home. The kind that sees your broken parts and stays anyway. Despite everything. The kind that waits for you during a rainy day, when you just want to collapse in your bed and stop existing for a few hours. She is just… here.” He looks at you, noticing that some tears started rolling down your cheeks, the sight beautifully painful.

“And—I don’t know how it could have happened to me. I don’t consider myself being really lucky, even if I wear mismatched socks every day. I never learnt what affection and, well, super loud mess meant until Professor Wilson paired us up for a Psychology project. And I’m glad for that, every single day.”

He looks at his notes, then sets them aside because come on—does he really need them?

“When she met someone, I was…” sad, heartbroken, maybe jealous? “… skeptical. Mostly because he had a man bun and wore flip-flops in March.” Laughter. “But then I saw how he looked at her—like she was everything. And I realized he saw what I always have because, well, she is everything.” He looks at you again, and maybe in that moment you realized.

He breathes. The words feel heavier than they should.

“So today, I raise my glass not just to love, but to courage—the courage to be loved, to start something new, and to give yourself to someone who adores you.” He continued. “And you.” He says, talking to your husband. “You are the luckiest person in the world because being loved by her is a privilege that not everyone can have. I hope you’ll treasure it or else.” He jokingly adds.

He turns fully to you, his glass in his hand.

“You’re going to be so happy. I just know it. You deserve every bit of it and I’m going to be here for every step. I can’t wait to celebrate all your milestones together—I hope you’ll let me.”

The room claps, but Spencer barely hears it. All he feels is the way you look at him—like you know. But you just smile in between tears.

___________________________________________________________

The night goes on, and so do you—dancing with your husband, arms tangled, laughers that fill the room—that could honestly fill every room you laughed in even if it was away. 

Spencer stays seated until your hand appears.

“Heyyyy you.” You say, smiling. “You owe me a dance.”

He raises an eyebrow. You remembered. “Do I?”

“Of course. You promised.”

He doesn’t argue. He follows.

He takes your hand, lightly, like you’re made of something fragile. Your perfume hits him like déjà vu. It was always the same perfume you used for years. It was just so you.

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder, your hand squeezing his as you both start swaying.

“Do not step on my feet.” You tease him.

“I won’t—I read a book about slow dancing.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’m not surprised. But I have to say that you are doing great.” “You are not so bad yourself.” He replies, as there is a moment of shared silence in between the two of you.

You look right into his eyes, smiling. “Thank you for the speech—it was beautiful.” “I know, you bawled your eyes out.” He says, a smile on his face. You get closer to rest your chin on his shoulder and playfully swats his arm.

“Sue me for having feelings.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I meant all of it. Every word. Except the man bun. That part was for laughs.”

You laugh—and he holds onto it like a lifeline. Then you are quiet for a few seconds.

“You know, years ago, when I dreamt about this day… I always thought it would have been you.” You confess, as you just didn’t shatter his heart. He looks at you with a gentle smile on his face. You didn’t know that he dreamt about it every day. He still does.

“Oh, really?” You nod. “Yeah. But then I realized it was the cliché feeling that every teenager has when they think that they are in love with their best friend. But I knew you didn’t see me that way, so I let it go. I was just silly.” You say, your words not carrying any resentment, as if you were saying something playful.

But he couldn’t blame you. You didn’t know that his gaze was nothing but full of love for you.

“Well, we were just kids, weren’t we? And look where it brought you anyway. You married the love of your life.” He says, his heart aching again.

If only you knew. You nod. “Everything happens for a reason.” “I agree.” He says, as you both keep on swaying.

You rest your head on his shoulder, just for a moment.

It almost breaks him. But not quite.

“Thank you for being here, for being you.” You quietly say, before he presses a kiss on your forehead. 

“Always.” He just replies, holding onto this sweet moment.

Sometimes you have to learn how to let go someone for their own wellbeing, even if it feels like carving your soul out with your bare hands, smiling while you do it, just so they never know it hurt.

No one ever heard the pain lodged permanently behind his ribcage, where your name has lived quietly for years.

He loved you in silence. In the pauses between your jokes. In the way he remembered how you took your coffee and the way you hated sad endings and always cried for sappy movies. In every moment you looked at him like he was your favourite person—just not in the way he wanted to be. He loved you like it was his purpose, and he let it kill him quietly.

But love—real love—is not a prison. Love is choosing your happiness over his own, even when it guts him.

So he is letting you go. Not because he stopped loving you. But because you never knew he did. And maybe, in some parallel version of this life, you turn to him instead, and he gets to be the one at the altar holding your hands.

But not here. Not in this version.

Here, he gets to have his last dance with you before you went back to your husband, as Spencer looks at you, knowing that he will always be your best friend, your platonic soulmate.

You live. Happily. As you should.

And he accepts it, looking from the second row—close but not too close.

summary: you and spencer reid are married and you have a daughter, mia. one day you decide to stay home while the both of them went out to spend some time together. you decided to do some decluttering and you find his notebook. you read all the letters he wrote to maeve.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

word count: 4,8k

content warnings: fluff/angst. mention of someone passing away.

author's note: i wrote this after a movie i saw a few days ago. my dear friend jem (@/blvrrface on twitter) wrote this with me. a bot about this will be out soon, too! my cai account is @/ohmyreid. you can get updates on my twitter account @/spookyrydel. it's my first time writing a one shot so i hope you all will enjoy! 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

“You sure you don’t wanna tag along?” Spencer asks you, as he was fixing Mia’s curly hair in a (really messy) braid. You nodded.

“Positive. You two can go and have your fun. You have been out for a few days. I’m going to give you some daddy-daughter moments alone.” You reply, giving him a sweet smile, before looking down at Mia, who was already pouting.

“But mommy–” she starts, giving you her usual puppy eyes. “You don’t want ice cream?” You sigh, before booping her nose with your finger. “Not today peanut. Mommy has things to do.” “Actually mommy just wants to relax.” Spencer says, slightly teasing you. You raise your eyebrows.

“That, too. And I told you I want to clean up a bit. We have too many things in our closets.”

“Don’t–” He starts saying, pointing his finger at you, knowing he was starting to be sassy. You interrupt him.

“I’m not throwing away your Doctor Who action figures. Don’t worry.” “I wasn’t about to say that.” He lied, trying to hold back a smile. “Come on sweetie, we are ready. Let’s go get some ice cream and then we’ll go to the science museum. And mommy will miss all the fun.” He says, before Mia sticks her tongue out at you. You laugh.

“I will miss all the fun, I know.” You sarcastically say, gently fixing Mia’s hair since Spencer made a mess. “But I will wait for you two to come back home. And we can watch Barbie?” “Barbie in the nutcracker?” Mia asks, pouting again. As if you two are able to say no to that adorable face. You smile.

“That one. Come on, go before it’s late. Have fun without me.” You say, giving Mia a kiss on her forehead, making her giggle.

“We will.” Spencer smugly says, holding Mia’s hand. Before leaving he gives you a quick peck on your lips. “Relax a bit too. You deserve it.” “Do I?” You ask, raising your eyebrows, before giving him another quick kiss. “And you have fun. You deserve it, too.” “Bye mommy! We will see you later! I love you!” Mia says, waving at you.

“See you later peanut. Be good for daddy, okay? Love you more.” “What about me?” Spencer asks, with a fake pout. You laugh.

“Yeah, love you too. Come on, go.”

He smiles. “Love you more. See you when we come back”. He says, before they both leave.

You sigh. It feels weird being home alone, it barely happens. But sometimes you need time for yourself– and those closets won’t be emptied on their own. It was supposed to be a quiet, simple kind of day. It barely happens that you are home alone so you decided to take care of yourself, clean up your house a bit and just make beauty masks, have a glass of wine and watch some trashy tv show.

You started with yours and Spencer’s closet, putting away some old clothes to give those to people that needed them. Then you cleaned up Mia’s closet too, a nostalgic feeling spreading through your bones. It seemed like yesterday that she was born and she is already four years old.

Strange how time passes.

Now you were just trying to clean up the guest room closet. The one that had slowly morphed into a museum of Spencer’s past—boxes of books, stacks of old FBI files, that one cardigan he swore he lost but you knew was buried somewhere under a psychology textbook from 2003…

But then something catches your attention.

It was tucked beneath some old clothes. The cover was worn leather, the spine frayed. No title. No label. Just a rubber band wrapped twice around it. It was a notebook that belonged to Spencer.

You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But curiosity got you so you opened it.

You immediately saw her name.

Maeve.

And the first line of the first page felt like it reached into your chest and twisted something deep inside.

“Maeve,

I never got to say goodbye. So I will write to you instead. Hoping you’ll read this whenever you are (I hope it’s in Heaven).

I’m not sure if this helps or hurts. Maybe both. But I have to keep you somewhere, and, even if I have an eidetic memory, my memory isn’t reliable when it comes to feelings. Mostly when it comes to you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I met someone a few weeks ago. I was drinking my usual too-sweet black coffee when I heard someone arguing over the phone. I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable but when she hung up she was crying. So I offered her a hot chocolate and asked her what’s wrong. I usually don’t do these things but I felt really sorry for her.

She’s… she’s not like you. I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s loud. And messy. She sings off-key in the street while we walk and doesn’t know what to do with silence.

But when she smiles at me, it’s like I finally learned a new language after years of only speaking grief.

Sometimes I wonder if you’d be angry. If you’d think I moved on too fast. But then I remember what you told me in my dream—that you wanted me to live. I’m trying, Maeve. I’m really trying.”

-----

“Maeve,

Something unexpected happened. I couldn’t even believe my own ears when I asked her to go out with me. We did hang out sometimes in that coffee place we met and then walked around, but it wasn’t something super serious.

I asked Penelope what to do in this kind of situation and she told me that I should ask her out for a romantic dinner. Is that how it works?

I also read an academic article just in case.

I really don’t know. I didn’t even get to have a romantic dinner with you. I’m still a newbie in these kinds of things.

But she said yes. No, she said exactly: “A date? That would be awesome”. That’s what she said. I guess she is excited, right? Because I didn’t get to sleep last night. At all. What if she doesn’t like me in that way? What if I’m not ready?

Is it too early for me to move on from you? I wish you could answer. It has been two years but it still feels like yesterday when I lost you. What if I’m using her just to feel the void that you left? I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t think I would be able to forgive myself.

But I really like her. I like her smile, her hair. I like her sense of humor, even if sometimes I can’t totally get it. My stomach hurts when I think about her. Scientifically speaking, this is the result of the abnormal anxiety that I have been feeling since the moment I asked her (three days ago), but romantically speaking… I think those are actually butterflies. Or whatever romantic people call them.

I’m going to pick her up in half an hour. I really don’t like driving but I want to be a gentleman. I got her flowers, too. She mentioned that she didn’t like roses so I got her tulips. I hope she’ll like them.

I hope she’ll like me.

She feels like when you are cold and a ray of sunshine gently hits your face.

I hope I’m not sounding too sappy.

I still miss you. I hope you and Merton are good friends up there.”

————

“Maeve,

I’m sorry if I reach out twice in the same day, but I just wanted to tell you that the date was magical. I brought her to an Italian restaurant and the food was delicious. She is the most beautiful person in the whole world (don’t be mad, I think you were really beautiful, too. You must still be).

She really liked the flowers and I guess she really likes me too since we kissed.

I mean, she kissed me. I couldn’t stop rambling when I brought her home and she decided to shut me up in the sweetest way ever.

I’m glad she did it. I wouldn’t have the courage to do that.

I can still feel her cherry lipstick on my lips.

I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight.

I can’t wait to kiss her again.

I hope you are doing fine with all the angels in Heaven. Thank you for being here for me.”

-----

“Maeve,

She stayed the night last week.

We didn’t sleep. Not in the way you think. We talked. For hours. She fell asleep on my shoulder while I read her a short story by Stephen King. I think you’d like her. She listens.

But she also argues. A lot. With this look on her face like she’s daring me to be smarter than her. Sometimes I let her win.

I laugh around her. Do you know how strange that feels? Laughing again?”

-----

“Maeve,

We just had a fight. Our first big fight.

It’s so strange to say —

I mean, we argued before, but nothing too serious.

Now we fought, she cried and I was just frozen in place, I didn’t know what to do.

She told me that every time I’m out for work she worries too much, because anything could happen to me.

I hate having an eidetic memory because I remember every single one of her words, she said: “Didn’t you wish to become a teacher? As you always said? Because I don't understand why you keep putting yourself in danger every day. You want to have a family some day, but you don't even know if you will come back home when you walk out of that door”.

I said that I get her point of view, but I also told her that she doesn’t understand me — she cut me off immediately after this. She said that I’m the one who doesn’t understand, and that she needs some time alone.

Did I screw it up, Maeve?”

⸻

“I wanted to update you about my last letter. I didn’t screw it up, apparently.

Right after I wrote to you I decided to act on it and try to fix things, so I went to her place with her favourite food and I told her I’m sorry if it seems like I don't care about what she thinks.

She told me that she was sorry too, that she understands that I love helping people, and that she will try to understand, even if she won't ever accept that I put my own life in danger.

But I think that's because she cares about me, right?

We ate the food together and cuddled in bed, I didn’t even think about the germs!

I think I love her.”

-----

“Maeve.

We have been together for six months now, I love her. Not in the same way I loved you, but I’m in love with her just the same as I was with you. You just can't love two people in the same way, you know? But she makes me happy, she makes me breathe again. I just love her.

When she kisses me she always smiles, and then she jokes and makes fun of me all the time — but she doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s refreshing, you know? She keeps me on my toes, and challenges me every time.

Sometimes I’m scared we are too different, but then she snuggles on me whispering how much she loves me, and I feel at peace again. Maybe we are meant to be.

Did you send her to me, Maeve? Thank you if you did, you gave me back my life.”

-----

“Maeve,

She moved in today, we have been together for one year. Is it rushed?

Maybe, but it feels right with her.

I always imagined my life with someone calmer, but maybe I was meant for noises all around me.

You should hear how she sings when she is cooking. She is the worst singer I have ever heard — but somehow I would listen to that tune all day, forever.

I guess I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy. How is it going in heaven? Are you playing chess with Einstein? I root for you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I hope I’m not bothering you. Sorry if my letters aren’t really constant but life has been chaotic lately. Remember when I told you that she moved in with me? Now we have been living together for more than a year, but my apartment started being really small for the both of us.

We started house hunting. I didn’t think it could be so stressful. Some houses were too old, some too modern— and you know how I feel about modernity. Some houses were in really dangerous neighborhoods and I didn’t want us to live there. Also what if we end up having a family? I don’t want my kids to be in danger.

Or maybe I’m just daydreaming now. I’m a logical person but when it comes to her even the stars seem closer to me. Which isn’t technically possible— but you get me.

God Maeve, I wish you could have seen the smile on her face when I agreed to purchase that green couch that she loved so much. I didn’t really like it (don’t tell her that) but I’d give up everything just to see her face lighting up, even just a bit.

We have been having small arguments on furniture and decorations for weeks. But at the end of the day, I’m still the happiest man ever and I feel lucky, even if that means that I’ll have to carry too many boxes.

It’s our first night here in the new house— our new house. It still feels weird to say that.

Our new house.

I hope you are happy for me, but I know that you are. I still think you sent her to me as a blessing.

I hope you are still working on your research.

And sorry if I talk about her too much. She is just my everything.”

-----

“Maeve,

I bought her a ring. I didn’t think that diamond rings could be so expensive. But when I saw it I just knew it belonged to her. Actually both Penelope and JJ helped me. They have been trying to investigate for me for weeks and they found out that she was looking for rings and wedding gowns on her Pinterest page.

I have been wanting to do this for a while. We have been together for such a long time.

Today is also the anniversary of your death. It has been five years since that day. I went to the cemetery on my own and I talked to you (to your grave, at least. But I like to think that you were listening). I cried, a lot. I haven’t been crying this much for some time.

I didn’t even get the chance to say I love you back. But I did. And a part of me will always love you, no matter what.

But I love her endlessly. I didn’t think that I would be able to feel something this big and tremendous for someone. She changed the structure of my heart.

I have been having this ring for a few weeks and she is completely oblivious about it. It’s starting to feel heavy in my pants’ pocket but I want the proposal to be special.

I’m probably going to take her to the same restaurant where we had our first date and then to the beach. It’s her favorite place— I mean, I really don’t get the appeal of having sand everywhere, but she loves it.

I think I’m going to do it tomorrow. God, she doesn’t know anything. She thinks we are just going out as we usually do every weekend when I’m not working on a case.

I’m really nervous. What if she says no? I don’t think I will handle it.

But she won’t, right?

I hope you will be here with us at the beach, maybe in between the waves. I need you to be here with me. It’s going to be one of the most important moments of my whole life.

All I want is for her to say yes.

I’ll keep you updated.

I hope you are happy up there.”

-----

“Maeve,

she said yes. I know that you knew, because I could feel your presence there. Maybe I’m crazy but I just know you were looking at us with a big smile on your face.

After dinner I took her to the beach as I wanted to and we were just walking, hand in hand, while she was rambling about what happened today at her workplace.

I wasn’t really listening (which I’m sorry for) because I couldn’t wait to get on my knee and ask her to be my wife.

So I did that.

I tripped over my own foot and my eyes were glossy all the time. I tried to come up with something romantic to say but she kept on saying “oh my god stop” and she just kept on crying.

So I cried too.

Then I asked her to be mine forever and she said yes.

She said yes, Maeve. Can you believe it? Can you believe that someone wants to spend their life with me?

If it’s a dream I hope I never wake up.

She is now talking with her friends on the phone, showing them her rings. I can hear them screaming from here.

I can’t wait to marry her.

I’ll send you an invitation.

Sometimes I still feel guilty but then I look at her and I realize that I feel alive.

Talk to you soon.”

-----

“Maeve,

We just came back from our honeymoon — with “just” I mean it’s already been a week from that day when we stepped foot back in our home. I didn’t have time to write to you, jet lag has been crazy. How can people deal with that?

We spent two weeks around Europe. Paris first, then around Italy and lastly in London.

I thought she hated the idea of walking around cities all day, but she was happy as long as she had a pastry in her hands, even if she made me eat most of it anyway. I think I gained a couple of pounds, you know? I have always been a little too skinny anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. I would call those happy pounds.

The days right before the wedding have been the most anxious days of my life, but the moment I saw her walking down the aisle it was like… breathing for the first time — even if she took my breath away.

She has always been stunning to me, but maybe I fell a little more in love after seeing her in that white dress.

By the way, the honeymoon was magical. We saw so many places and took so many pictures.

I wanted to visit Greece as well, but we didn’t have much time for it. Hopefully we will go there soon.

She also stopped every two seconds to pet every stray cat or dog we met, isn’t she the sweetest?

I wish I could show you the pictures she took of me, and the ones we took together.

Could you see us walking down the streets of Paris from up there? I think we are beautiful together, at least everyone told us so.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m going to be a dad. I wanted to write something else before being so blunt but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.

I’m going to be a dad. She is pregnant.

She has been keeping this from me for a few weeks. I did pick up on the fact that she was just drinking water and that she stopped eating sushi (I thought she actually had a stomach bug). Then when I came back earlier from a case in New Jersey she wanted me to solve a riddle. I didn’t even think about the fact that she was trying to make me say the word “baby” for half an hour. Then I realized.

I cried, Maeve. I couldn’t believe it. How is this happening to me? Is this what happiness feels like?

She cried a lot, too. Then we hugged. I wanted to hold her super tightly but I didn’t want to hurt the baby. Our baby.

Can you believe it? I always wanted to be a dad. Is it possible to already love someone so much even if they aren’t even a formed human being yet?

I’m going to protect them from everything. I’m going to be the perfect dad— I have to.

I don’t want to be like mine. I would never give up on my child and on my wife. I want to give them the whole world.

I’m going to wake up really early tomorrow morning so I can go to the library and read as many things as possible on pregnancy and newborns.

Do you think I will be good at this? God, I hope so. I don’t even know what I did to deserve this— all of this. This is something too precious. I hope I won’t ruin it.

I love her, Maeve. And I love those little cells inside her already. I feel like my heart is going to burst.

I can’t wait to meet him. Or her. I don’t care as long as they are healthy.

I didn’t think I would have another chance at this after you passed away but I was wrong.

She proved me wrong so many times, and now she is carrying our child.

I hope you’ll watch over the three (two and a half now) of us from there.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m really sorry for not reaching out as I once used to. Our little girl is keeping us occupied— and her mom, too. Our baby is actually a girl, did I mention that? I wish I could show you the ultrasound pictures. She looks so small and I can’t wait to hold her.

Her mom’s belly is growing everyday and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I still can’t believe she is carrying the life we created together.

Sometimes she lashes out at me but I read it’s normal. It’s the pregnancy hormones. But it’s okay, I’m not the one having a tiny human in his belly.

I’m trying to be the perfect husband as soon-to-be-dad for both of them. Sometimes the cravings are too weird and disgusting but I deal with them easily.

Our baby is growing and she is healthy.

I’m loving this journey.

I hope you are proud of me and that you won’t be mad because I moved on from you.

But I know you won’t.

You sent them to me, after all.”

-----

“Maeve,

The most beautiful thing in the world just happened to me.

My daughter. She is born.

Can you believe it? I’m a dad. D-A-D.

God, it still sounds insane to me.

Her name is Mia Diana Reid.

Mia means “mine” in Italian, but I read that it's a shortened form of the Hebrew name Maria, which itself is derived from Miryam. I didn’t really like those names, so we decided that Mia was perfect.

And Diana because, well, you know, it’s my mom’s name. I’m still scared that someday she would wake up without even remembering my name, so giving her that name I think was a sort of coping mechanism.

At least I will always have her.

She was born on August 1st, I think it's a beautiful day to be born in, because she reminds me of the summer.

My wife says that Mia is a leo, and that means that she will grow up confident and sure of herself. I know nothing about astrology, but I trust her, I hope she is right. She is really into those things.

She was a mess after the delivery, so I had to hold her and comfort her, convincing her to rest — not that I’m complaining about it.

When I held Mia the first time it was the most amazing feeling in the world, I didn’t think my heart could take that much joy.

I hope I will be a good father, Maeve. I’m a bit scared about it, but she keeps saying I’m already great at it.

I didn’t sleep at all last night, I just held Mia and I didn’t want to let her go, I’m scared I might wake up just to realise nothing has ever been real.

Hopefully I’m very much awake.”

After all those pages you just stood there, speechless after those words. You kept on touching the pages over and over again. You are not upset, why should you? I mean, he always said the best things about you, it’s not like he said anything hurtful.

Before you can even decide what to do, if talk to him about it or pretend you never saw anything, the front door opens, and you hear your daughter’s voice and Spencer laughing.

Then silence.

You look toward the door, Spencer is leaning there, his eyes a bit wider, then he walks and kneels next to you.

“Love I— What are you doing?”

You stay silent for a couple of seconds and then looks at him, stuttering.

“Spence— Love I— I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t think—“ .

He stops you immediately with a smile and a kiss on your forehead, curling an arm around you and holding you tight against his chest

“Hey. Hey, breathe. I know, It’s okay. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but i just needed a space to talk freely about you when I had those overwhelming moments.” He chuckles a little before continuing “You really gave me an hard time, in the best way possible. I hope you’re not upset.”

You shake your head. “I’m not, I’m not, I just feel bad because I read all those things you probably needed to keep to yourself.”

He shakes his head again laughing “No, those were meant for you as well. Now you know how I really feel — how much I feel.”

That stirred something inside you, and you let out some tears.

After a little you laugh softly through the tears “You really don’t like the green couch?”

He laughs as well “I didn’t. Like at all, baby. But I learned to love it.” Then he kisses your hair “Just as much as I love you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I think this will be the last time I write to you.

Not that I don't miss you anymore, I wish you could see me every day, I think you would be proud of the man I became.

Some days ago she found out about this notebook. Not that she was mad or angry about it, she wasn’t upset at all.

We talked about it, and we hugged a lot too — at least until Mia didn’t interrupt us because she wanted to play with the Barbies after watching the movie and we all had our dolls to role-play (of course I’m Ken and I barely do anything).

You have been a big part of my life, Maeve, one of the most important chapters.

I don't even know how to tell you goodbye, since time hasn't belonged to you for years now. Can you still see the passing of days and nights from up there, or is it always daytime?

When you left, something broke. Not forever, but enough to make me realize that love does not end with absence. There are days when I wonder what would have been if you had stayed. If we had had a wider, slower, less cruel time. But then I look at my family, and I realize that life is not about choosing between one love and another. Sometimes, we are only given to keep carrying everything, despite what life throws at us.

I know that you are always here, even though I cannot see you. Sometimes I feel your hand on my shoulder, and I feel you smile seeing my wife and daughter. I know you like them very much too. In one of the first letters I wrote to you I was wrong, she is not a rebound.

Are you proud of me, Maeve? I hope so.

I have to go now, Mia is calling me - it's time for a bedtime story.

Until we meet again.