Dear Mac.
After I read your letter, you knocked at my door and I opened it without hesitation. When we kissed, I felt that you love me. I realized that I shouldn't have transferred to New Orleans because I saw that you need me in New York. That you need me near you. And that you need the city. It keeps you awake, to get over the pain you've experienced the years before. And I can understand that you will stay there. You belong to the city. I respect that. And I've made a decision. After you went away when the week had passed, I sat at the couch and thought about our relationship. I thought about all we have gone through. About all the memories we have together. When I told you that I love you that Christmas night, I had realized what I really felt for you and wanted to tell you before it was too late. You looked at me like I was telling a whopper, but I really meant it. And that you couldn't tell me at that time, I understand. If I were you, I would have done the same.
The respect we have for each other is kind of weird, but I think it's the weirdness which keeps our love alive. The weirdness, that we can understand each other with just one look, without a word. I think that is why our love is so special, don't you think?
And yes, I remember the moment after my first case. It felt so good to get rid of all the cruel and sad memories which I had experienced in my childhood. And it felt so good to tell YOU about it. The reason I told you all this is because you remember me so much of myself. We both have seen very sad things, experienced pain and lost the ones we love. And that very often. You're my soul mate, Mac. That's very important for me, because I never had really friends in my life. I was always so afraid of getting hurt and being left alone again. I think you understand.
I do love you, too, Mac Taylor. You're the love of my life and I would never want to spend the rest of my life with someone else. You can be sure of that. When you read this, I'm quitting my job and introducing a colleague to his new job. I'm buying a plane ticket to New York and calling Sinclair, if I can have my job back. I'll be there at 10.00 p.m. at your apartment.
Love,
Stella