Alex carefully places the old gold necklace in the centre of the paper and folds the handwritten letter she's received around it. She puts them back into the same envelope from which the letter had come. She knows that later she'll regret this; the only tangible evidence that she and Bernie ever existed and she's letting it go, but it feels like the right thing to do.
She wonders if Bernie understands the appropriate irony of writing her a 'Dear John' letter? She wonders if she understands the irony of it all? Alex had waited. She'd supported, encouraged, advised and soothed Bernie through her journey of self-discovery. One that she'd begun many years before but had never been brave enough to continue on her own.
She'd blossomed and bloomed... and then found another to take on a similar journey. Alex is left behind; withered and spent, utterly exhausted and completely broken.
The necklace had been Bernie's late mother's. Something precious and treasured, a reminder of a love long since dead. It seems fitting somehow that Alex sends it back to her.
It's with a heavy heart that she drops the envelope into the postbox at the end of her road. She then takes up the loaded rucksack she'd dropped beside it while she'd dithered, and heads off to the airport.
Australia.
Where else do you go when there's nothing of you left, but to the other side of the world and start all over again.