The house felt like a mausoleum. I moved through it mechanically, packing up whatever little remained of my life. Boxes filled with clothes, books, old papers that once seemed so significant. Now, they were just relics of a life I’d lost, a life I couldn’t seem to hold onto no matter how hard I tried.

My hands were numb, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders as I closed up each box. I glanced at the clock—it was almost time to leave for court again. The sentencing. The end of the line. Everything was over, and there was nothing left for me to do but finish the process of packing up my past.

As I reached down to grab another stack of papers, something caught my eye: a letter, slid half-hidden under the pile of documents.

I froze, my heart pounding as I recognised the handwriting. It was Amelia’s.

I could barely breathe as I picked it up. The paper felt heavy in my hands, as if it had been waiting for me to find it. I hadn’t expected this. Not after everything.

The envelope was plain, no markings, no indication of who had sent it. My hands trembled as I tore it open, the rustle of paper sounding too loud in the quiet of the room.

Vincent, it began.

I don’t know how to begin this, and maybe I’ll never be able to put it all into words, but I have to try. I need you to understand why I had to do what I did.

I spent so many sleepless nights trying to make sense of everything that had happened. I thought I could stand by you, that we could get through this. But I didn’t realise until it was too late. You became someone else – someone I didn’t know anymore. You threw everything away: your integrity, your family, my family, all for some deal that I could never understand.

You ruined everything. All of it. You’ve destroyed not just me, but hundreds of others. I can’t forgive you for what you did to my parents. The destruction you caused to their lives. How can I? How could I ever look at you the same way again?

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I tried to stop you. I tried to make it right. I even tried to go public – to expose what you’d done. But I couldn’t find the proof. You covered it all up so well. It was like you were two people: the man I loved, and the man who would sell his soul to save his own skin. I couldn’t live with it. I couldn’t live with the shame of knowing I was married to the person who caused all of this.

So, I made my choice. I couldn’t carry on, Vincent. Not with this weight on me, not knowing what you had become. I thought if I ended it, it would expose everything. You wouldn’t be able to hide behind your lies anymore. You wouldn’t be able to walk away from the destruction you caused. My death was meant to make sure the truth came out.

I hope you understand now why I did what I did. I hope that, in the end, you’ll see how much I loved you, and how much it hurt me to do this. But I couldn’t keep living the way you were forcing me to. I couldn’t be the person who helped ruin the lives of so many, including my own.

Please don’t think that I didn’t care. I did. But you killed me long before I took my final breath.

Goodbye,

Amelia.

…

I sat there, the letter burning a hole through me. The weight of her words crushed me, shattered any last hope I had left. She blamed me. She was right, of course. Every word, every accusation was true. But the cruellest part wasn’t just that she blamed me. It was that I couldn’t deny it.

Her death wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t something I could explain away. She had done it deliberately. She had killed herself with the intention that her death would expose me for what I was – a man who had destroyed everything for his own selfish gain.

I stared at the letter, a wave of guilt, anger, and shame flooding me. But there was still a part of me – the part that always tried to find a way out – telling me that this letter could clear me. If I submitted it as evidence, it would prove I, at least, wasn’t responsible for her death. I hadn’t pushed her to it. She had made her own choice, and I was left to deal with the fallout.

But the truth was, I had ruined everything. Not just for her, not just for her family, but for me too. No matter what I did now, I could never take back what I had done. I could never get back the man I used to be.

I could keep this letter and suffer the consequences. I could keep it and hide it forever, letting it eat away at me as punishment for what I had done. Or I could turn it in, use it to clear my name, and get my freedom. She had wanted the truth to come out. She had wanted to expose me, to make me pay for what I had done. But I couldn’t bear the thought of living with the guilt of her death on top of all of that.

So, I made my decision.