My heart was beating hard against my chest. I could see Shane fighting back the tears while she watched the moment of pure happiness pass between Norman and Rita. I, on the other hand, was not feeling 'unsquashable'. Whatever the opposite of this feeling was, that's where my heart was at.

Yet Norman's grand-mother had said, "Do the thing that scares you most". Only then would I be able to find happiness for myself. Quietly, I stepped out of the room and took a deep breath to calm my shaking hands and weak knees.

What was I most afraid of? There was Shane and what I felt for her, of course. My emotions were running wild every time I was around her – which was every day – and I felt like I was sinning no matter what I did: telling Shane how I felt would sure mean I was cheating on my wife? Not telling Shane, and risking her finding out at some point in the future would make it impossible for us to continue to work together. Even coming to the point where I can think about having feelings for Shane without instantly shutting down that train of thought … I am so confused!

Yet, while we were waiting for Mrs Pane to come around after her surgery, I had realized that my feelings for Shane were not what scared me most. The letter I carried in my jacket's inner pocket was burning through the fabric of my shirt, right over my heart. It stung, it rubbed, it made it difficult for me to breath … it was just a piece of paper, I kept telling myself, but it seemed like it was tightening a rope around my chest and slowly suffocating me.

I hadn't mailed it yet because I was terribly afraid of the consequences of my actions. I was afraid of the changes it would mean for me and even more so I was afraid to admit to myself that I had been wasting the last few years waiting for a miracle I knew deep down would not happen.

When I had walked into the office earlier that day and found Shane at my desk, for one moment I had hoped she had read the letter. It would have made everything easier and removed the need to tell her what it said. And I have to tell her.

Sitting in that bank vault, a week ago, thinking that my time on this planet might be over, had brought things into perspective. Holly, my wife, would not return to me. She had just leased an apartment for three years in Paris, making her intention to stay – and not to return to me – quite plain. To keep waiting for her, to keep hurting over someone who obviously didn't even care to get in touch to let me know how she was doing – that was madness. I had been living in that state for so long it took Shane and her unorthodox ways to shake me out of my convenient lies and self-deceptions.

So I had told Holly I was moving on. I told her that I had been waiting for her, faithfully, hoping for her return and to be reunited with her as my wife. I had expressed how I had hoped that we could be better together – that I had tried to be more like the man she wanted, less like the man I was. How I had been checking the Paris mailbox every day since the day she walked away. I needed to tell her that, so she would understand that I had taken the commitment to our marriage seriously, even after she had abandoned the vows that bound us together.

But after all this time, knowing now what I know, I had finally found the strength to ask god for help – to help me decide what to do next. And I knew that I had to move on and let Holly go, let our marriage go, and turn towards the future and leave the past in the past – I was not breaking my vows and I felt that god would not punish me for seeking new happiness in my lifetime. After the limbo I had held myself in for so long, I wanted to establish clarity again and I had asked Holly for a divorce. My letter was goodbye to my wife, goodbye to my role as a husband, and goodbye to the dreams and hopes I had held for our mutual future.

The future that I now had started to dare dream about did no longer revolve around Holly nor even include her. I could see, in the distance still, yet I could see Shane. Her passion, her humor, her loyalty, and her acceptance of who I was made me want to get to know her better, spend time with her. I could not do that as long as I had not made it clear – to Holly, but equally to myself – that my marriage no longer was and I was not committing sin by entertaining these notions.

How long had I been standing in the rain? I don't know. I was soaked to the bone, the water running into my eyes and mingling with the tears that I shed for the pain the past had brought me. My hands were still shaking, but the mailbox I was leaning against stood firm, waiting patiently for my decision, offering support until I willed myself to pull out the letter.

I could still decide otherwise – I could decide not to mail that letter, not to put it into the waiting opening and send it off and end an entire chapter of my life. But I needed to. I needed to do that thing that scared me most and with a deep breath I pushed the soaked piece of paper into the mailbox and closed it.

For a moment, nothing happened. No lightning struck, no choir of angels burst into song. But then I felt it. That incredible weight that had been sitting on my shoulders had disappeared. The crushing pain of indecision and fear was gone, and so was the constriction of my chest.

I stood taller, finally being able to breath again! Then I felt her, and when I turned there she was. Shane was standing in the rain, the water rolling off her umbrella in sheets. The question was clear in her eyes, but so was her compassion. She wouldn't ask, she respected my need for privacy too much for that. But even without knowing if I had stepped towards her or away from her, she was willing to help and to feel for me.

And in that moment, I knew I had made the right decision.