Autumn of 1911

Three months after my father's death, the situation at home is becoming more and more complicated. My mother has been constantly ill since his passing. Every night I hear her crying through the thin walls. Thena has lost her motivation to write, and Diana is no longer interested in teaching or drawing. Diana has become scared of the colours. Without my father, my entire family feels drained of life. The harsh reality pushes me to acknowledge the presence of that letter.

Ideas have been haunting me for the past three months. My mind seems to be split in two, one side always criticising myself for causing my father to choose. That I could have salvaged the situation with a loveless marriage to Augustin, and now, God has given me another chance to end this situation. But I cannot give up Enzo. I cannot give up my final chance at life.

I stand by the window, looking out at our small vegetable garden, where Enzo is tirelessly taking care of. A sense of guilt is burning within me right now. Now, I understand what it feels like to be my father. I see what he saw before. Tears suddenly fall after a long time of not knowing what crying feels like. I will do what I have to do, the things that I should have done long ago. I will relieve the suffering of those I love. And above all, they deserve more than what they have now, they deserve a better daughter, sister, and wife.

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I sit at the desk, straightening my back and putting my heart on the burning tip of the pen. I take a deep breath, as if to finally unify my mind. I have not changed my decision because it is the only thing I can and must do. I will fulfil my father's wishes. I will do what he was unable to do.

I open the letter, and the expensive ink smell fills my nostrils. I show no emotions as I pick up the pen. My heart rate slows down by half. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. My eyes close tightly, as if to keep Fiona in the past, in the dark tunnel. Then, I write these fateful words.

“Dear, Augustin…”