I stepped into the dark room and glanced around in shock. It looked
almost exactly the same as it had been for opening night. Her costume was
laid out beside her dresser which held her jewelry, makeup and various
accessories. I hadn't been in here since that night and seeing it all
brought back the feelings I had as I walked into the room to pay her for
her services. The feelings I had as a fought to get her to take the money
wishing only that she would take back everything she said about not loving
me. I opened a jewelry box and was astonished to find and envelope with my
name on the outside. I opened it and revealed that it was a letter from
Satine dated to the night before she died. "December 1st 1899, Dear
Christian, I was hoping that I would be able to tell you all of this in
person but when Harold told me of my consumption I had to make sure you
were to find out. First of all, I love you Christian until the end of time.
You were my only true love and the only person who made me feel like I was
more than what somebody would pay for me. That's why I am hoping you will
understand what I am about to tell you. You know that I had a life at the
Moulin Rouge before I met you. Almost ten years of being a courtesan and I
had to face some difficult situations before I met you. The first year I
worked here I did get pregnant and lived with my mother for 5 of the 9
months I was pregnant. I left my child with my mother because I couldn't
take care of her. Christian, I didn't love her father. He meant nothing to
me. That's why I want you to go to her and tell her about her mother and
that the only reason I didn't want to keep her was because I wanted the
best for her. Her name is Julia and I want you to take care of her
Christian. I always wanted to go back to her and be a real mother but I
cant. Let her have a father Christian. She will love you as much as I did.
I will love you until the end of time. Come what may, Satine." Right then
and there I knew what I had to do. I would go to Julia and offer her
whatever I could.
