My Dear Sweet Detective,

Here I sit, in our house, in our kitchen, in our life and I am so shattered. I'm not even sure if I can make it through this letter without breaking down. I can't face you, I'll lose my resolve. I'm leaving Jane; I'm leaving you and taking the kids. I can't deal with you anymore. I love you, oh God do I love you pretty girl, but I just can't take it anymore. You've been lying to me and I knew it all along. Molly has started asking me where you are, and I've been running myself ragged trying to avoid the truth. Daniel, pure, sweet Daniel, cries out for you on nights you don't come home.

I found the bottles Jane. I know that you were trying to keep it away from the family, but I found them. That means that our children can find them Jane. Could you imagine what 7 year old angelic Molly would say when she found a bottle of Jim Beam in the toy box in the garage? With their TOYS Jane?! The same toys that your mother bought them for Christmas last year, the toys that Frankie found when he travelled to the south? Those are precious memories Jane, and you've tainted them. How could you do that to our children? You can lie to me, I will ok. My heart is pounding, but I will be able to live. But, you're their mother. They ask for you at night, they tell their friends about their mothers. But, when their friends come by, you aren't here? Daniel started kindergarten 3 weeks ago, and you "were working late on a case". Barold called me that same night asking if you had made it home, he hadn't seen you since you got sent home at 3 for insubordination.

I've had my bag packed for a few months now Jane, not wanting to throw away 10 years of marriage. I just wanted you to notice that I was at the end of my rope. Is it so bad at home that you only show up once a week to raid the fridge, and pass out on the couch? I haven't slept next to you in 4 months and we haven't made love in nearly a year. It hurts me to see you like this because I feel responsible. I can't have 3 children Jane, I need a wife. I need to feel beautiful and smart, sexy and wanted. You haven't done anything to me but tell me that I was aging rapidly, and point out the stretch marks that haven't faded since I gave birth to my son, our son. You didn't even make it in time for that, Korsak had to call the bar and tell you that I was in labor while Tommy drove me in my own car.

Because of these things, I have reached my point. I can't do this anymore; I deserve the woman that you used to be. I know that you have a problem, and as soon as you can admit that and get help, I will be so glad to do whatever I can. But, until then, my sweet girl, the kids and I will be staying with Constance, for however long it takes. I will send you photos of the kids, and write to you when I see fit. I will leave our return address in hopes that I can trust you not to show up there in a state. You may write to any of us, but don't even try until you've made an effort. I love you Jane, and I just want our family back together. Please help me pick up the pieces of our life.

I have hope for you Jane Rizzoli,

Maura

Jane sat at the counter of her house, in her life, where her family should be. They had left two days ago, and she had no idea. She needed help, she needed her family back. She picked up her cell phone, and hit dial on the number she had been staring at for quite some time.

"Thank you for calling Boston Addiction Clinic, where miracles can happen, how may I help you?"

"My-my name i-is Jane Rizz-Rizzoli and, I-I have a problem: