Dear Friend,

I am a fool. How could I ever have thought that Angier would love me? Why did I latch onto him of all people in my time of despair? It is disgusting and I will forever regret my actions that have led me to this place. My original instinct of Angier was correct-I am just a tool to seek revenge out on my husband. I am to be a trophy of his Lord's arm, a toy to torment my imprisoned husband. I suppose I should start at the beginning, when I first realized the truth, the truth of my Alfred.

It began like any other day of my married life, except this day I woke up with a clear mind. I finally saw what any woman could see. I have often said that I was married to two men; I just never knew how true that was. I thought my Alfred had a personality problem, but really it is an ambition issue.

Alfred once told me that as a child he longed to become the most famous stage magician in London. This ambition to succeed above all others is what has leaded me into my hell of a life. You see dear friend Alfred was born a twin. Everything makes sense now doesn't it? Why my husband seems to love me one day and hate me the next. And why Fallon can make me feel safe. Fallon and Alfred are the same. Because my husband and his brother have shaped a life that they must share an identity one of them must be in disguise while the other is not. Everything has fallen into place and the blinders are off. One day my love is Alfred Borden "Freddy" is Fallon, but when Freddy becomes Alfred Borden, my love becomes Fallon. It makes sense why I take comfort in Fallon's presence when Freddy inhabits my life.

Even though I know the truth it does not provide me with any reassurance. Alfred has lied to me since the day I met him and this betrayal seems much worse than the affair I thought he was having. My "husband" or the twin I love has never cheated on me with that whore. But yet I have cheated on him with Angier, his bitter rival. I deserve this horrible life.

As you can see friend my mind is in chaos and I apologize if you cannot clearly understand me. But I have yet to even scratch the surface of what has been happening.

I confronted my husband on that day when I realized the truth. How fortunate for me that it was Freddy there. I write this with as much sarcasm as I can muster in my body. Freddy broke me that night. My mind had been hovering on the edge and with his harsh words coming from my beloved's mouth it collapsed. I knew this man was not my husband. I knew that he did not love me, but when he said those words with so much hate in his voice I could not stand it. All I could see was my love shouting hateful things at me.

The next morning I left without a word. The house was suffocating me and while I was walking on the streets, seeking clarity I decided to seek my husband's workshop. The place was exactly what I pictured it to be. Here Alfred practices his illusions, his magic with his lovely assistant. God how the thought of that woman continues to torment me. Even though I knew in my heart that my true husband could not have cheated on me…I could not help but wonder. Olivia is beautiful in a way that I can never be. She is younger and more experienced and her hair seems to be made from silk. Looking at me I can see why a man would choose her. I am tiny with hair that looks as if a bird has made its nest in it and my skin bares the marks of labor. I hold none of the majestic beauty that Olivia carries within herself. I am a mother and a fool.

With the thoughts of betrayal and my insignificance I approached a loop of rope that was sitting on a table. Dear friend, I must tell you that I contemplated taking my life right then, but the stupidest thing kept me from doing it. It was the memory of Angier's lips upon my body, the memory of our lovemaking. It is extremely pitiful to think that I once thought that he loved me now that I know why Angier came to me in the first place. Yet however much of a fool I was, I still am breathing because of it. I am breathing in a wonderful mansion with a man who thinks it is right to falsely accuse a man of murder, a man who enjoys touching me in his bed, his hands spreading misery along my naked body. I let him roam me because I have no more fight in me. I cannot write anymore tonight…I am sorry. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to tell you the rest of my cursed story. Perhaps tomorrow I will be released from this depressing parody of a life.