The other evening, when I came into the room where my family and the Valentini were gathered, I was so upset after what he’d said to me that everyone noticed. My stepmother made a scene: she told me off for being ill-mannered, and wilful, and for indulging in irrational fits of joy and bouts of gloom. My father tried to defend me, by saying that I was unwell.
Everyone else remained silent. This torture went on for half an hour. When I was able to retreat to my room, I thanked the Lord and prayed ardently that He would call me to Him.
I had a dreadful night, without so much as closing my eyes. I’ve searched my heart, and I’m scared.
Marianna, if I weren’t afraid of committing a sin and causing grief to my father, Giuditta, my brother, and you … to everyone who loves me … I’d wish to die of cholera …
Goodbye.