written, but unsent
week after she leaves, 2005
Roni.
I'm not sure what writing you will do, because I don't know where you are. I don't know where you are, where you went, if you're okay. I don't know why you left...well, wait. I do. Because of me, right? Because I couldn't be there for you like a husband should, that I wasn't a good enough man to stand by you? I knew that day, when I kissed you goodbye, that you weren't going to be there when I came home. I could tell, and it killed me. It murdered me and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't move. I couldn't bring myself to run back in, hold you, and tell you that this was going to be okay. That we are going to be okay. Because I didn't believe it myself. Now that you're not here...I realize this is why I'm not going to be okay.
Do you remember when we were kids, and I took you to the beach? God, I think we were...16? 17? And I tried to impress you with my sand castle building skills, but then the water came and took it all away. You laughed, and saw how deflated I was, and you kissed me on the cheek and told me that you'd like me even if I couldn't build you a castle, and I was thinking of that today. Because in a way, that castle was our family, right? It was taken away from us before we could really build it, and instead of sticking by you...I let you leave. I let us both hurt. I'm not a good man.
I don't want a future with anyone but you. I don't want a family with anyone but you. I haven't been able to leave the house at all, hell I don't even know if I feel right being here without you, but I stay here in hopes that you'll come home.
Please come home. You'll never see this, and I can never send it, but I hope somehow you realize that I want you home. That...I will always want you home with me, that I want you with me, that I want you as my wife, that I want to be a better husband to you.
Please, please come home.
Brian.
six months later
Roni.
I signed the divorce papers today.
It was the hardest thing I had ever done, because it meant that I was officially giving up on you, and giving up on us. Letting you leave is the biggest regret of my life, and I will always regret that. I wonder a lot what would have happened if I didn't let you leave. If I didn't let you walk out that day, if I had decided not to go to work. Would we have confessed everything finally then? Would we have admitted that we wanted things to work, but we were scared? I would have. I know I would have. I hope you would too. But, I can't be sure.
You know, once you got in contact with my Lawyers about the divorce, I almost came to find you. I almost forced out your location out of your lawyer, but I knew that wasn't right. Because if you wanted me to find you, you would have told me where you were. And here we are, six months since everything ended and I'm just as hopeless without you as I was before. Everything has just been falling apart at the seams, and I don't know how I can...I don't know what I'm trying to say here.
I'm not going to have a family with anyone else but you. If I can't have children with you, then what is the point? You would have made a wonderful mother, you know. Maybe you still will, maybe you'll find a way to be able to get pregnant, maybe you'll adopt, and you'll get re-married and spend the rest of your life with someone who deserves you more than I ever did. I hope that you have a beautiful life, because you deserve that. You deserve the world, I've always thought that. You are beautiful, intelligent, desirable, passionate, stubborn as all hell, and you're not mine anymore. But I wish you were.
I love you. I am always going to love you, I am always going to love the stunning redhead who got away.
I am always going to regret losing you. Nothing in my life will ever make up for that. I'll carry that always.
I love you. I hope you find a good life, and a happy one.
Brian.