Dear Wayne,
words cannot describe the feelings inside me. Someone has ripped my insides open and left me to die a slow and painful death. A death which will be a relief from the agony I am feeling. I want to scream and shout until someone comes and tells me that it's all a bad dream and that everything will be fine once I get out of this fucking hellhole. But my voice is stuck in my throat, and I am alone.
It can't be true. It can't be true that the man I love has betrayed me with my own daughter while I was far away, unable to do anything to stop him. It can't be true that the man whose baby I carried has not only broken my heart, but also the sacred bond between my child and myself.
What could possibly have happened at home to make you do such a thing while I am stuck in here?
Everything in me is crying out for you, the man who I thought loved me more than anyone before. But you are no longer that man. Your love vanished the day you screwed my daughter.
What have I done to deserve this fucking heartache?
I want to hate you, despise you, but all I feel is a pain that hurts so much it keeps me awake at night, making me sick and unable to eat.
I want to see you one more time so I can look into your eyes and ask why you did it. I want to hear it coming from your lips, not hers, your voice telling me why you did it. Then I might understand why you couldn't give me a second of your life, a second spent to think about what you were going to do and stop while you could.
I am broken, a shell that looks like me from the outside, but I am hollow. I've already lost my baby, my freedom, Jane. Now I've lost everything else. My love, my daughter, my dignity.