Sunday, May 21

Dear Oliver

This week I continued fulfilling my responsibilities, completing more reports, and training others to do what I've been doing. Top officials have approached me informally about a permanent appointment. I made it clear that I have no intention of staying. Steve keeps saying that I will be released as soon as possible.

Today I was in meeting in which I was required to sign more confidentiality agreements. I took your pen out of my bag to sign the papers. An older, distinguished gentleman saw the pen. Admiring the pen he said, "Excuse me, do you know what you have there?"

I said, "Oh yes, yes. I definitely do."

I know what I have. I know what I miss.

I'm increasingly worried about you. I've been gone for almost 3 months. I want to tell you to not lose heart. I want to tell you that each day that passes is one day sooner that I will be home.

As I have mentioned previously, I often think of the letters we shared the afternoon we were locked in the bank vault – the letters Jonathan and Catherine wrote to each other. Perhaps it is because they were separated by the miles, as we are. Perhaps it is because they had shared only one date, only one kiss, as we have. Perhaps it is because the words they shared express what I have felt for you for so very long.

Sometimes, I fear that we have left too many words unspoken. Perhaps I presume too much. Perhaps what I see in your eyes isn't your feelings for me but only the reflection of what I feel for you.

At the risk of seeming foolish, of being too bold, there are things I must tell you. Even as I write these words, I don't know if I will have the courage to actually give you this letter – or any of these letters when I return.

I decided to use the words we shared in a bank vault one afternoon that now seems so long ago. Oliver, something tells me against all common sense that I have met the one that I have been waiting for all my life. You are the best person that I have ever known. When you came for me on our first date and told me that I looked beautiful, in that moment you made me feel so. When you kissed me, I was truly happy for the first time. They were not the first lips that I have ever kissed, but until we meet again, they will be the last.

Shane

Epilogue:

This was to be the last letter that Shane wrote to Oliver before she returned to Denver. That week, Oliver came to Langley and reclaimed his pen.

Their reunion wasn't as she had envisioned. His eyes did not light when he saw her. His arms did not open to receive her. Instead, his eyes were filled with sadness, hurt, anger and bewilderment. His arms held back in reserve.

Her heals did not click on the tile floor as she ran to meet him. Her arms weren't thrown around his neck as he whispered to her that "it's ok" as he had so long ago in that bank vault.

The coolness of their encounter felt like an indictment to Shane. He seemed wounded. If she reached for him, he would surely bite. She held herself together and her hopes and her longing at bay.

But he had come and deep down she knew that he had come for her. In all the many months that his wife had been in Paris, he had never gone after her. After three months he had flown to D.C. for Shane. That had to mean something.

Ultimately, he did help her get off that plane. He did saying something profound: "I can't lie to you. I'm just wondering if Steve can."

Shane learned the truth. And the truth set her free – free to return.