(I promise I don’t normally email this much outside of release week… Scout’s honor.)

But I had to drop into your inbox to share something exciting:

🎧 The first episode of Sincerely (Or, So I Thought) Yours—the narrative version—is HERE!

 

This is your sneak peek into the story everyone will be buzzing about this summer.

Also… 👀

This is the final week to become a Whimstery Founder by grabbing your official network sticker! Founders will get exclusive early access to this episode and a bunch of extra goodies before our official summer launch.

So if you've been curious, now’s the time—Founders’ access closes this Friday night.

 

P.S. I’m also revealing the very first sticker for this podcast at the very bottom of this email! 😍 You can snag it today if you like!

 

Okay okay, enough teasing.
 

Scroll down to view the new sticker & then read the FULL first episode! 💌

GABRIEL

On the day you get married and utter your vows, there are five sweet words that sound far less harmless in retrospect than they actually are: For better or for worse.

 

Personally, I think we need to come together once and for all and add a contractual line after that phrase.

 

“For better or for worse, unless you commit the following dealbreakers, subject to certain conditions.” Namely, if ‘XYZ’ happens, you can immediately desert your wife.

 

Do not pass go. Do not second guess. Do not pay any attorneys’ fees.

 

You’re free, and it’s all your wife’s fault.

 

If she starts doing anything in the secondary category of ‘WTF,’ changing her entire personality for no reason, or saying things like:

 

MINKA

We need to talk again. I feel like you’re starting to understand me, but you’re not getting me, and this is something you need to work on…for us.

 

GABRIEL

Or if she dares to break open the nuclear destruction case to ask:

 

MINKA

Have you ever wondered what the happy people in open relationships know that we don’t? Is monogamy really all it’s cracked up to be?

 

GABRIEL

At that very moment, you can take off your wedding ring, walk away, and never look back. You’ll receive the divorce papers in the mail, and she’ll be forced to sign them due to breaking the contract.

 

No harm, no foul.

 

Unfortunately though, if you meant even half the words in your vows and love this woman down to her marrow—down to every last gram of her soul, it’s excruciating to think about an escape route.

 

There’s no exit ramp from ‘forever,’ and no matter how far your marriage speeds down the ‘for worse’ lane, your heart is strapped tightly to the seat.

 

Wrecks, wrong turns, rough weather, and all…

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

(clears throat)

Um, Mr. Ledger? Are you there?

 

GABRIEL

Huh?

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

(concerned)

Mr. Ledger, we’ve been on the line for a while now, and all you’ve said is “for better or for worse.” Would you like to discuss your feelings about that phrase today?

 

GABRIEL

No. And no offense, but I could’ve sworn I blocked your number, Doctor Reiss. I hate your therapy sessions.

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

I appreciate your honesty. Alas, now that you’re alert, let’s jump right into it. Can you tell me one nice thing about your wife?

 

GABRIEL

Depends. Define “nice.”

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

Something you’d say about her to a casual acquaintance, maybe. If you ran into an old friend and they said, ‘Oh, how’s the wife?’ what would you say?

 

GABRIEL

She’s still breathing.

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

Mr. Ledger, that’s—That’s not the type of answer I’m looking for. “Nice,” remember?

 

GABRIEL

She’s still breathing well?

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

(Sighs)

You two are in intensive therapy for a reason, correct?

 

GABRIEL

There are thousands of reasons…

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

Exactly. Since I want today to be one of our easier phone sessions, can you please say one nice thing about Minka?

 

GABRIEL

She’s still breathing really well.

 

THERAPIST (FEMALE)

Okay, Mr. Ledger. You can hang up now.

 

GABRIEL

Gladly.

 

GABRIEL (narrative)

I end the call and toss the phone into my briefcase.

 

Honestly, I could say a lot of nice things about my wife, but they’d all be about who she was before. The woman she’s transformed into these days is much more complicated, and I’m still trying to figure her out.

 

She’s recently developed an unsettling & morbid sense of humor, the dry kind that rattles everyone except me into an awkward silence. It’s the kind that forces her to burst into giggles in the middle of a murder mystery with a—

 

MINKA

Why don’t these people ever stage a car wreck or snip the brake lines instead of making these elaborate plans to have their spouses killed? The murders would be far less suspicious that way.

 

GABRIEL

I’ve gotten my brakes checked weekly ever since…

 

GABRIEL (narrative)

At this moment, she’s doing something she never did during our early years of marriage: Making breakfast and coffee.

 

Well, she’s attempting to, anyway. I was hoping it would take her less than three months to realize that the burnt marks on the toast are highly preventable, but maybe month twenty will receive that benchmark.

 

As ugly as our recent times have been, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

With dark brown hair that falls in waves past her shoulders and deep emerald eyes that glisten in the moonlight, she turns heads wherever we go. Her full pink lips hide a pearly white smile that’s instantly infectious, and now and then, I catch glimpses of who she used to be through the sound of her raspy laughter. But those moments are fleeting and far between.

 

Whenever she isn’t trying on new personality traits, she’s striving to become a new version of Martha Stewart—without the skills—as if all she has to do is buy a pastel yellow apron with a matching mixer and wait for some magic.

 

To be fair, I can easily envision her on the front cover of a magazine. Something like Minka Ledger’s Lifestyle & Home: Tips on marriage, life, and, most importantly, picking what flavor of crazy to serve your husband today.

 

MINKA

What flavor of coffee do you want me to make for you today?

 

GABRIEL

What?

 

MINKA

I’ve been trying to get your attention for like two minutes, Gabriel. What type of coffee do you want?

 

GABRIEL

Oh, sorry. What are my options?

 

MINKA

French vanilla, hazelnut, or house blend.

GABRIEL

Which one has the poison in it?

 

MINKA

None, and I wish you would stop telling that joke.

 

GABRIEL

I will, whenever you stop researching “how to mix antifreeze  & arsenic into a drink without someone noticing.”

 

MINKA

For the umpteenth time, I’m obsessed with true crime podcasts, and you know that.

 

By the way, did you know that the cyanide used in the Jonestown murders looked just like sugar flakes? That’s how they were able to mix it into the Flavor-Aid without suspicion.

 

GABRIEL

I’ll pick up my coffee from the cafe at work. Thanks for the offer, though.

 

MINKA

I thought you were off today?

 

GABRIEL

Something urgent came up, so I have to go in. I’ll be back this evening.

 

MINKA

Okay. Well, I took the liberty of wrapping some avocado toast for you and your secretary.

 

GABRIEL (narrative)

I gently take the ziplock bag of definitely-not-edible bread from her and wonder if I can use it as a doorstopper like the last one.

 

MINKA

Have a good day, Gabriel.

 

GABRIEL

You have one, too, Minka.  

 

GABRIEL

We stare at each other, awkwardly wondering what to do next. A strange tension crackles between us whenever we’re this close. It oscillates between intense attraction, unease, and confusion, and the setting changes by the hour.

 

MINKA

Drive safe. See you tonight.

 

GABRIEL (narrative)

She lunges forward to hug me, and I caress her back while she nuzzles my chest. For a moment, I consider staying home with her like I used to, but I’m slowly learning to let go of those times.

 

They’re over.

Heading to the garage, I slide behind the wheel of my Audi and put it in reverse before speeding out of our neighborhood.

 

MINKA (inner voice)

 

MINKA (narrative)

I wait until I hear the car’s engine revving around the corner, and then I dump my coffee into the sink.

 

It’s time to pick up where I left off yesterday: Figuring out what the hell is wrong with him.

 

With us.

 

These latest years of marriage have been an experiment in walking on eggshells in the mornings and dancing on a tightrope in the afternoons—all while carrying a heart that’s too stupid and heavy to know what’s best for it.

 

MINKA (narrative)

To make matters worse, whenever the eggshells beneath our feet shatter to pieces, Gabriel bends down to the ground with me and helps to put them back together again. 

 

It’s confusing as hell, and something deeper and darker is going on with him.

 

I can feel it…

 

MINKA (narrative)

Grabbing the set of keys I stole from his briefcase last night, I head upstairs and walk down a winding hallway that overlooks our garden.

 

A wooden oak door stands before me, guarding a room I’ve never seen. It’s the only room in this house I’m not allowed to venture into.

 

It’s been permanently locked since the contractors finished, and Gabriel is baffled that I would care what lies behind its frame.

 

Whenever I ask him to open it or if he knows where the key is, his answer is always the same.

 

GABRIEL

You don’t need to be worried about what’s in there, Minka. Just let it be. Trust me.

 

MINKA (narrative)

I’ve been forcing myself to accept doing just that…until I saw him slip out of there four nights in a row last week.

 

I have to know.

 

No, I need to know.

 

Taking my time, I slide each key from his ring into the door’s lock, but none fit.

 

MINKA  (narrative)

Sighing, I consider kicking at the frame until it gives, but I’m still nursing a sprained calf muscle from trying that method last week, so I vow to try another day.

 

MINKA  (narrative)

Walking to our bedroom, I rummage through my daily memory box, hoping one of our wedding photos sparks a flint of recollection since a certain “incident” that Gabriel and I never discuss, but nothing comes to mind.

 

Due to bouts of long-term memory loss, I can only remember our recent years, a few scattered moments, and… nothing else.

 

As I’m putting the box away, I notice a piece of paper sticking up from the floorboard.

 

Confused, I tug on it, but it doesn’t give.

 

MINKA  (inner voice)

 

MINKA  (narrative)

I tug on it as hard as I can, and the entire wooden panel pops out of place.

 

MINKA (inner voice)

 

MINKA  (narrative)

I set it aside and see that it’s not just one sheet of paper. It’s a bundle of them, tightly wrapped with a worn brown rubber band.

 

Gently removing it, I flatten the stack and notice that each page is marred with stiff, black handwriting.

 

Gabriel’s handwriting.

 

MINKA (narrative)

I stare at the mass of words in shock.

 

My husband is a man who answers emails in two words or less, a man who sends a ‘Happy Birthday’ wish as ‘HBD,’ so discovering a collection of written pages from him is like finding another world wonder.

 

Assuming this is a secret novel, I thumb through the sheets, but my hopes are dashed when I realize these pages don’t correlate to a larger story. They’re undated letters…to me.

 

MINKA (inner voice)

 

MINKA (narrative)

Suddenly, the hairs on my neck stand at full attention, and my heart begs me to put his private letter collection away… but I can’t.

 

MINKA (inner voice)

 

MINKA (narrative)

Only halfway believing the answer, I vow to read just one before returning them to their hiding space. 

 

After re-securing the floorboard, I carry the papers downstairs to the laundry room and sit on the cushioned stool that faces the washing machine.

 

MINKA (inner voice)

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

Dear Minka,

I don’t want to be with you anymore, and I honestly can’t put up with your shit for another second.

 

I can’t even tell you when I knew I’d reached the end of my rope with you, well ‘us,’ but it’s been here for a long time and I’ve been silently preparing to let go.

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

Maybe it was when I came home late one night, and you didn’t ask why. Instead, you asked me to make you a cup of coffee and turn on the reading lamp so you could finish reading a novel.

 

Maybe it was when I called you three times back to back to back, and you didn’t answer because you were too busy treading water in the pool, and by the time you returned my call, I’d already reached the road assistance service.

 

By the way, since you have yet to notice that we have a brand-new Audi in the garage, it’s because you randomly took our old car on a joy ride in the middle of the night just to “feel young again” before crashing it into a lamppost.

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

Or, maybe I’m thinking about our issues on a micro level, and things were over long before we began, and we’ve spent these recent years trying to shape ourselves into people who no longer fit together.

 

Last week in therapy, I almost walked out when you lied about the first day we met. 

 

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

I know you’re steadily pushing the boundaries with strangers to test book ideas to make your dreams of becoming a #1 New York Times bestselling author come true, but there’s a time and place for that.

 

And I can assure you that our therapist did not buy one word of your nonsense. Before you try to deny it, allow me to pen your lies verbatim.

 

MINKA

We met under a sky of grey and ominous clouds. The air was thick with the promise of rain, and it was the sort of day where the universe guarantees nothing will go right. I'd slipped into a bookstore, desperate for a new thriller novel to escape into, when I stumbled over a pair of black Italian shoes.

 

With no grace whatsoever, I face-planted on top of the “Highly Anticipated Releases” display, sending paperbacks and cardboard signs flying into the air.

 

I was prepared to lay there in shame until the store closed, but fate had other plans.

 

A warm, steady hand reached out to lift me, steadying me back on my feet. As I straightened, I glanced up and looked into a set of the most beautiful blue eyes I'd ever seen.

 

My heart skipped a beat as my eyes drew him in, and I tried to memorize every perfect angle of his face.

 

As if he'd walked off the cover of a romance novel, he moved closer, giving me a better view of his chiseled jawline and made-to-be-kissed lips.

 

Holding back a laugh, he smiled at me through a pair of pearly whites and whispered:

 

GABRIEL

Are you okay?

 

MINKA

I couldn't say anything back to him, though. All I could do was stand there and blush as he stared at me.

 

As if the universe was whispering, "He's the one," I realized that this man was holding the very book I’d been searching for. That's all it took to start talking and have our first date at the next-door coffee shop…

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

For the record, I met you at a bar around two in the morning, while you were on a date with someone else.

 

You walked up to me with a blood orange martini in your hand and leaned close before whispering:

 

MINKA

I know that I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I am literally on the worst date of my life, and I need you to pretend to be a crazy, jealous ex-boyfriend to get me out of it. It’s either that, or I’ll have to fake a seizure…

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

I didn’t tell you that I’d already noticed you—with your short black dress and matching stilettos—the moment you walked into that place with him. That even though we didn’t know each other, I was indeed very jealous that you were with another man instead of me.

 

Alas, I happily played along with your ‘Psycho-Ex’ game, and after your date ran out of that place like a bat out of hell, we spent the dwindling night hours bar-hopping and laughing before we tangled under my sheets.

 

In the weeks after that…

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

(sighs)

I don’t want to waste too much time thinking about the old us.

 

“The old us” was…different. Passionate. Fun.

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

Sometimes, I think you secretly blame me for things falling apart, and you’re oblivious to the cracks and dents you’ve made.

 

If I had to ask you the percentage of who’s to blame for the current state of us, I’m sure you’d say eighty percent me, twenty percent you, and to be fair, I’d probably say the same, but vice versa.

 

GABRIEL (reading a letter)

I don’t know how I’ll ever express this to you since we no longer know how to talk to each other, so I’ll write until I can’t keep the words to myself anymore.

 

Until maybe you see what I see, and we can both pretend that our endless nights of passion, evening conversations that lasted til sunrise, and promises of never wanting to let each other go are long gone, and they’re never coming back.

 

Sincerely (or, so I thought) Yours,

Gabriel

 

P.S. If I knew what I know now, I would’ve never married you.

 

MINKA (narrative)

Tears soak my shirt as I finish reading his harsh words.

 

My heart is aching—reeling, and I know I should immediately return the letters to their hiding place and leave his private confessions alone, but I can’t.

 

I can’t hurt myself any worse if I read one more.

 

Just one more…

 

GABRIEL

 

The voice acting in this podcast is PHENOMENAL!

 

If you'd like to be a founder + hear it first + receive all episodes early, click here and purchase a Whimstery sticker. 

 

 

 

 

P.S. If you have a book-loving or audio-loving friend, please share the first trailer for Sincerely (or, So I Thought) Yours via YouTube & tell them about Whimstery so they can know what awesomeness is coming soon!