Doug immediately recognized Andy's handwriting on the violet envelope in between all the ads and other useless mail such as nota's. The gracious italic of the letters and the round curve's of the capital D that was almost calligraphy he had seen on many notes throughout the years. She had always gotten A's for her handwriting. Destined to become a journalist he thought.

He dropped the letter on the table in the living room while making lunch. It was one of his favourite moments of the day, as the house would be completely to himself. The little pleasure of letting the milk standing on the kitchen island instead of in the fridge were precious things in his life. He didn't need to open the door again if he wanted another glass.

With a grilled sandwich he walked into the living room. Andy probably wouldn't mind him reading and eating at the same time. She knew him that way. So with his first bite in his mouth he opened the letter.

Dear Doug,

As you read this I shall most likely be dead. Which is no surprise, you've practically been living next to my bedside. I can't possibly tell you how much that means to me.

Still: a last letter, because I never stop talking, right?

Do you remember how we used to play spies? Of course you do, our missions were almost always successful, as they consisted mostly of stealing the fresh-baked cookies from your granny (I now realize that she always made two extra, as her she and her friends were with a total of six, but she always baked eight…). But do you remember how we knew that Billy was going to sneak away from his exam and that we attached empty can's on a string at his bike so that he made a lot of noise and got caught? Or that I made you climb in the tree to get whisker out, and that you got afraid so that I had climb in to get you out? At least we tried to do good.

Nevertheless: I got another mission for you. For us, but as I am temporary without body (until further notice) you shall have to do the earthly work while I take notes from above (and you bet I will). The mission is called 'HALFD' (You are allowed to change the name, I admit it still needs a little work). Happiness-And-Love-For-Doug. I starts with divorcing Lydia.

Don't get me wrong. I know you love Lydia, in a sort of Sunday afternoon-ish way. I can see that whenever you sit at the table with the shining silverware that she insisted on buying that you're not unhappy, as you do not find the silverware ugly. But that is it, Doug, you're not happy either. I do not see that utter relief of the ultimate coming home. And I know it is impossible to feel that way every day. But you've been married for 4 years and 7 months (Lydia doesn't only keeps track of it on the calendar in your restroom, she tells me. Every freakin' time I talk to her. That includes text messages) and honestly I've not seen it once. The last two years I can even see a little haunting in your eyes. A little… sadness and despair that grows.

It will keep on growing Doug, don't pretend it is not there. Because then you'll wake up one day with a morphine tube in your hand and the realization that it has haunted you and that it took over. That you spilled a lifetime on pretending. At least, that is how it worked for me.

Yes, yes I admit. Easy to admit things on the last day of your life isn't it? I am apparently no different from others as only the knowledge of death standing at my front door that breaks through my (in)famous stubbornness (I love my stubbornness, Don't you think that I would ever give that up. Not for a thousand deaths).

I love her. When I graciously 'lost' my phone along with my job I also 'lost' a part of myself. I didn't lose it Doug, I threw it away. For the sake of a career, for the sake of being someone I knew. Someone whose role in life I am perfectly able to play. She said to me, right before I walked away: you can see beyond what people want and need and choose for yourself. And she was right, I saw beyond my own want and need. But instead of choosing the person I could be, I just choose to not give in and to stay the person that I at least knew would be 'okay-ish'…And I miscalculated the prize of that action greatly.

Come out of that closet Doug. I know, your closet is filled with carpet and a lovely view from the keyhole, but it is not the real world. Inside time stands still while outside the 21st century ticks rapidly.

And give Lydia the chance to become happy too. I know you can't bear the thought of hurting her, but staying this way will hurt her. Slowly but inevitably. I can't shake the feeling that the time track keeping is just to remind her that at least one of you values this marriage. No, I am not saying that you don't value the marriage. I know you are the best husband one can dream of. But let her find someone that keeps track of time with her instead of her keeping track of time for someone. Start wearing your own watch. Nobody can have the time of your life but you. And I know how much you love that song.

Let this be our last mission Doug. Because as much as it was your mission to make me happy, it was also my mission to make you happy. But I can't do that alone. I need help from you.

You are the best friend I ever had. You are my buddy, ever since we finger-painted all over ourselves in kindergarten. I can't ever thank you enough for all that you've done for me. With me. If I could, I would steel cookies with you forever.

Love,

Andyspy

When Doug was done reading tears were leaking down his face. His sandwich left untouched after that first bite.