Dear Nora,
By the time you receive this letter, the kids and I would have already left. I'm sorry to have done this to you without a warning, but right now, I honestly believe this is the best thing for our (or should I say my) children at the time. Don't bother storming by my sister's place because we won't be there, and I'm not doing to disclose my location. I had also earned enough extra money to purchase my own cell phone plan, and have blocked your number. Hopefully, this will be the last time I speak to you, with the exception of a future court date.
Oh? What court date, might you ask? Well, apparently the old friend that I had went out for coffee with last week has connections with a lawyer and was willing to help me pay for one in order to get a divorce finalized, and I'm meeting with them tomorrow to discuss the situation, so I would advise you keep checking your mailbox regularly. I plan on having a rather interesting conversation with them, so that hopefully you will finally get the justice you deserve. As a matter of fact, the letter you are reading right now, I went ahead and scanned and printed out a separate copy just so I can show them. I think it's about time you went to prison and stayed there instead of begging people to bail you out every 5 seconds. No, you really need to face the consequences of your actions. I'm so sick and tired of you believing you can do such horrible things to people, and think you can get away with then. Not this time. I'm done.
"But Linnie! I do all this for you!", you know what, Nora? You're quite right. You did always make the best knuckle sandwiches. It never seemed like the kids and I could get enough of the way yours seemed to taste like meat and alcohol, kind of like a drunken thanksgiving turkey. But well, I'm quite the health nut as you are aware. I don't think sandwiches that taste like blood and tears are going to help our children grow big and strong. Plus, I really don't want all that whiskey laced around your fingers to get in their eyes.
"But I do everything for you! Why can't you be more grateful?", Why should I be grateful for the privilege of your incompetence? Do you ever listen to yourself and think about how sloppy and annoying it is? Everyday you come home from work, you do nothing but complain, as if the world should serve everything on a silver platter! It's quite hilarious you tell me to be more grateful, when you can barely speak in complete sentences after all the drinks you've had. Slurred sentences, though filled with pretty much every swear word you could possibly imagine, it really is no wonder why your students don't respect you. You don't have anything respectable to give them. And you ask yourself why our kids don't respect you either.
"But you'll regret ever leaving me! Don't you realize that without me, you'll be back to your pathetic, lonely life? Besides, I'm great in bed.", Yeah no, darling. You were so fast in bed, you made Sonic the Hedgehog look slow. Now unlike you, I refuse to swear so please, pardon my censorship. Anyhow, "sleeping" with you in bed was like a chore. Every time you pinned me on the mattress and pressed onto my chest, it felt like all the strength I had in my body was fading away as I continued to squirm and attempt to get you off of me. I remember my face got all red and hot as you let's say had gotten quite personal with me, and for a moment, I honestly felt like I was being set on fire. I had screamed and cried for you to stop, but you just wouldn't, and I really can't look at other women the same way without thinking about that memory. Every moment in that bedroom (and that crooked old, alcohol stained house for the matter) felt like I was in prison, and I had been sentenced a lifetime with no parole. Heh, ironically, now that I'm writing this, a lifetime sentence would be a vacation compared to everything you had put me and the kids through.
Now, with all that being said, I don't hate you. I've never hated you. Throughout our marriage, I had felt sorry for you, because I had always seen you as this drunken little insect that gotten picked on by the rest of society. You had told me about your problems at work and had even felt sorry that I feel pregnant with our (I'm sorry, MY) children (though I will never regret having them, no matter what you tell me) because I know it was something you could never see in your future. But right now, I'm at a point where I'm tired of you taking everything out on me, and if something happened you were so angry, you killed my children, then there would be no way I would forgive you, and I really don't think you want that.
I don't hate you, Nora, but I don't love you anymore. From now on, my children's well being is the most important thing to me, not whether or not that stupid, bug infested, liquor store is still open or if your order is ready. After court, I want nothing more to do with you, and I will ask that if you ever come into contact with any of my children to kindly look the other direction. As far as I'm concerned, you were never their mother and I'm sure you remember what I told them about talking to strangers, right? If you somehow get let off by the judge, I really do wish you the best in your life. I hope you can find some help somewhere, and live a much happier life in the future.
Sincerely,
Linnie
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