It's been four months since that awful day. Four years since he ruined everything about our lives. I can't keep myself from crying. I miss my son. I miss my husband, the witty, intelligent man that left my life when he published those letters. Even so, I miss the feeling of him beside me. It breaks my heart watching him slowly erode from his previous self. I told him to burn, but I don't know if that's what I want after watching it happen.
I'm standing at the window. It is yet another sleepless night for me. I'm watching Alexander aimlessly wander the garden as he has done every night since we've moved. To be honest, it was hard to feel bad for him at first. I had my own problems, but now he's the same way he was. He does his daily duties; goes to the store, tends to the other children, but often I hear him coming home late at night from places only other people have told me about. They say he never goes to the bar, but rather the church, the park, or from just wandering around town. I don't know how many people really care about him, though. So many people read that pamphlet, so many people shamed him, my family, and the Reynolds. I don't think people have forgotten about it, but I wonder what they think of him as they see him wander.
I look down at the letter he had written me about a month after Philip died. I cried when I read it. I've done a lot of that recently.
Dear Eliza,
Look at where we are. Look at where we started. I know I don't deserve you Eliza, but hear me out, that would be enough. If I could spare his life. If I could trade his life for mine, he'd be standing here right now and you would smile and that would be enough. I don't pretend to know the challenges we're facing. I know replacing what we've lost and you need time. But I'm not afraid I know who I married just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.
Alexander
I could see the man outside in the garden writing that letter to me, but I could have never seen Alexander writing it. He has so much pride, building his life from the ground up and now it's falling apart.