She wakes up with a faint smile over on her lips, the sun peeking through her curtains and warming her bedroom. Today's the day. Her mom's on her way over to take her to the airport. She's really doing this.

She's really doing this.

And she thinks, maybe, he's to thank.

Those ten words have played over and over in her head.

Those ten words are about to change her life.

"You've got to take a chance on something sometime, Pam."

She makes her bed, does a little dusting and cleaning so she won't come home to a wrecked apartment. She makes sure she has her important papers and records packed, the rest are in a lockbox she's leaving with her mom.

She's not sad, like she expected she would be. She doesn't feel like she's running away, even though that was the original idea. She's just taking a chance.

She wonders if he'll follow his own advice. Probably not.

She's not expecting him to show up at her doorstep right as her mom's pulling up and tell her he loves her, beg her not to go.

Which is good, because he doesn't.

She doesn't expect a dozen red roses - or two - with a note saying he'll be right here when she gets back (which is good, because she knows he'd say "when you get back," and fuck him for thinking she'd come back, no matter what. She might not. She might take another chance).

He doesn't do that, either. 

She's not expecting him to meet her at the airport, or run to her gate and sweep her off her feet, or follow her to Houston like Adam Sandler did in 'The Wedding Singer.'

She knows he won't.

Standing in her living room, she catches the clock: 11:11 AM.

Make a wish, Pam.

She goes into the kitchen and leans at the bar. After a moment, she takes out some paper and a pen, and starts to write.

Jim,

I know I've screwed up. We both have. Over and over and over...Anyway, I don't have much time before my mom gets here, so I'll try and make this to the point.

I don't love you. I did, and I didn't know it. I'm sorry I didn't realize it. I should have.

All the things I should've done...I should've called you, I should've told you I hadn't married him. I should've told you the truth. But I didn't know. I didn't realize that I was in love with you until you said anything. And I know that's odd. How can anyone not know? Maybe I did. Maybe I was ignoring it, maybe my hopes of a terrace and a warehouse worker got in the way. I'm sorry.

Please don't be mad at me. I've tried, and I just can't stay mad at you.

I don't love you, Jim, but I think that I could. I think that I could if you'd give me the chance.

At least, please, let's work on being friends again. Please. That's what I need now, more than anything.

I'll be back in two weeks, but I'm taking my cellphone. You can call at night, anytime after nine (of course).

I'm so sorry.

-Pam

She reads it, over and over. Finally, she seals it in an envelope and considers mailing it. No, she decides.

She has her mother run her by Jim's so she can slip it in the mailbox on the way out of town.