Author's Note: I do NOT own any of the characters in this story! They all belong to Mr. Julian Fellowes.

Also:

At first, I wasn't too sure about this chapter. Originally, I was not even going to have this chapter in here, but I thought it would work well, and I'm pround of it. It's a short little chapter, from John's point of view.

From here, there will be two final chapters. Hopefully finished by the end of this week. But we'll have to see. Anyways, enjoy!

If you're willing, please leave me a review or even just a comment! Every little bit of encouragement means the world to me and assures me I'm not doing this for nothing.

and please forgive any grammar/spelling mistakes.

Much Love, xoxo

Nine weeks.

John had now gone a total of nine whole weeks without a single letter or visit from his wife.

As he lay in his bed, silent and unmoving, he couldn't help but think about Anna. His Anna.

He stared blankly ahead of him at the underside of his cellmate's bunk above him.

I should have never dragged her into this. She doesn't deserve to be involved with all of this. She's a good woman. A wonderful woman. And I'm such a horrible man for bringing her into this.

I should have never married her.

Oh but how wonderful the wedding was. She looked so lovely. So happy. So beautiful. She is beautiful. The most beautiful I have ever seen.

I love her. I will always love her.

But I don't deserve her. I never have. I never knew what she saw in me that would cause her to love me like she did.

But I knew who I really am. And she sees it now.

She sees how worthless I am.

She's realized that I'm not worth it. I'm not worthy of her, I'm not worthy of freedom.

She's realized it, and she's given up.

She's done, and so am I.

Above him, John's cellmate Craig shifted in his bunk, causing dust from the old mattress to fall through the grate and down into John's face.

He reached up to shield his eyes from the falling debris. He could feel the tiny particles settling on his forearm.

After a few moments, he put his arm back to his chest and let his eyes readjust to the darkness of the cell. He could hear Craig above him, starting to snore. He didn't particularly like his snoring, but he would take the sound of his snores over the sound of his taunting, teasing, irritating, and aggravating voice, any day of the week.

Often times, that teasing was about Anna and her letters. However, since John had not been getting any letters from Anna recently, Craig now taunted him about not getting them. If it were up to John, Craig wouldn't know about his letters in the first place. But seeing as how they were living in such close quarters, it was hard to hide something like that. It had been hard to hide when he was getting letters, but it was even harder when the letters had stopped coming.

And John didn't need to listen to Craig's taunting and teasing and constantly reminding him of what was going on. John tortured himself enough about it, and he didn't need Craig's provoking on top of it.

It was all he could think about. When they were in their cell, when they were at what the prison called "meals," when they were out in the courtyard getting their "exercise". She was constantly on his mind. There was no way of escaping it.

It was especially thought consuming as John lay in bed at night. He could only think about her. He would close his eyes and try to get some sleep, but the image of her face would appear on his eyelids, and he just couldn't handle it. So he would open his eyes, but her face never left his mind. And eventually, the sound of her voice would accompany it.

He would hear her say "I love you, Mr. Bates" the way she had said it on the road to the flower show, all those years ago. He would hear her say their wedding vows. He would hear her laugh. He would hear her say "I would marry you now, if I wasn't already your wife."

And then he would wonder where that went wrong. He would think about what might have happened to cause her change her mind.

But he already knew. He had always known it was too good to be true. A woman like her could never love a man like him. It just wasn't possible. He loved her, but he didn't deserve to.

He could hear the others at the house, telling her to move on. He could hear them saying that he was not worth it. That all of her work, all of her energy put into setting him free wasn't going to amount to anything. That she should give up and move on.

And as much as he didn't want to, as much as he didn't want to believe it, he could hear her agreeing with them.

And then he would force himself to stop hearing it. He would put his hands over his ears, even though her voice was coming from inside of him. He would curse himself. Blame himself.

He would shake his head as the tears formed in his eyes. He would wipe the drops away as they rolled down his face, only for them to be replaced by new ones. He fought to keep sobs hidden away for fear of Craig hearing him.

He would pull out her last letter, and open it. He would read it over and over again, looking for any indication of her doubts in her words. As always, he found none.

And all at once, his doubts, his thoughts, his worries were back at the forefront, and the vicious cycle started again.

Anna.

Some nights, he would drift in and out of sleep, others he wouldn't sleep a wink, lying wide awake in his bunk until the guard came to announce the morning. He would get out of bed, pretending he had been asleep so Craig didn't know he hadn't slept. Again, he didn't need another thing for his cellmate to taunt him about.

Then, the day would continue on, just as all the others since Anna's letters had stopped coming. He would pretend nothing was wrong because he had been to prison before, and he knew what the other prisoners would say. He knew what they would do.

He would put up a front, but behind that front was everything John held most dear.

He would get through the day as best as he could. He would wince and scream in agony as he was beaten for not moving fast enough because of his knee as well as his lack of sleep. He would fight the tears back as he thought about what his life had become.

Then, at night, when he was back in his cell, he would let the front down. And he would let the tears fall freely. He would examine the wounds and bruises from the day. And he would think about Anna. And he would think that she was right for giving up on him.

And he would think about what she was doing at that very moment.

Is she sleeping? Is she lying awake? Is she thinking about me? What is she dreaming about?

Anna.

Oh, what little John knew. She was not sleeping. Nor was she lying awake. She was not dreaming. She was thinking about him.

She was thinking of him and falling apart.