My darling,
I've promised you many things over the years, and I've never delivered on my promises. I'm older now, and this is one of many things that haunts me. It wasn't your fault these things happened, and yet things have been concealed from you.
The purpose of the letter is to tell you about your father.
Many times as a child you would glance up to me and ask a very innocent question: "Where is my father? Where did he go?" I merely ruffled your hair and told you I'd tell you when you were older.
Well, now you are older. I feel you may understand why I hesitated to tell you much about your father beyond that he was a good man now that you have learned some ways of the world. There are many things that you do not know know about me, and some things you never will.
One of the questions you asked repeatedly was WHO your father was. Was he a good man? Why wasn't he here with us? I could never answer outright. True, I told you that he was a good man, and he was being kept from us by duties. Those were not exactly lies, and I prided myself on being somewhat truthful.
But you deserve so much more than half-truths.
The truth is, he was so much more than those stories I told you. He was a good man, admittedly, but he could be cruel in his ignorance. He was kind, but quick to anger. He was much too quick to trust, when I first met him.
And, darling, he was a genius. I've never met his match in wit, and I doubt that I ever will.
As the years flew by, he only grew more brilliant. As light shines, however, darkness must spread. Your father descended into paranoia the farther he delved into his research. Soon, I hardly recognized the man he had become.
He became (what seemed to me) unstable, and I severed our partnership. I regretted the loss of such a deep friend, but I wouldn't do any further harm with our work. Two months after I left, I discovered I was carrying you.
I vowed to keep my past actions from affection you, and made a new life for us. I took odd jobs for many years before I settled down as a local artist. I hoped and prayed that I could keep a normal life for you.
Obviously, since you're reading this letter, that didn't work out the way I planned.
Enclosed alongside this letter is a journal; my journal to be exact. I kept a daily record of my life chronicled in there, and it will explain all you should want to know about your father.
To end this letter, and to begin the tale, I'll let you know your father's full name.
It's Stanford. Stanford Pines.