Helen took a large gulp of her chilled white wine and finally put pen to paper. She’d rehearsed almost every word, over and over in her head ever since she’d left Jack. Left him again.
No, she mustn’t think that. She didn’t leave him; he forced her away. Forced her again.
She knew she needed to keep a level head. She’d learnt plenty of coping strategies, which were fine for the usual daily stresses and trivialities of life, but how was anybody in their right mind meant to cope with this, let alone their wrong mind?
She couldn’t risk letting her feelings run away with her, but this letter needed writing. She had to tell him what was what. Calm, unemotional, matter of fact.
Dear Jack,
I’m writing to tell you that I’ve left the country again. I thought things might have changed, but evidently they haven’t.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out and that we couldn’t find our peace. I tried. I really did. But we’re obviously two different people. We’re poisonous together. When I left the last time I eventually managed to find my peace. I found myself. I discovered all that was wrong and I managed to find a way through it. I realised who I really was.
I thought I could use that to come back and patch things up, but coming back just opened up old wounds and reminded me of the person I used to be — the life I want to forget.
You’ll note this letter is postmarked from Paris. Don’t read anything into that. Call it a brief stopover. I won’t be getting in touch again any time soon, but I will pass your message on to Emily. I promise. She deserves to know the truth, no matter how unpalatable it is. And as you rightly say, she has a right to see you — if she wants to. She certainly hasn’t been keen up to now.
I hope all is well with work and life and that you can find your own peace in time.
Helen.