Well, Andy got the letter...hope I've done ok, I find it harder to get into Andy's head than Miranda's. Let me know, then perhaps Miranda will write again!

30-09-10

Dear Miranda,

I hope you bring yourself to read this, though a part of me hopes that you don't. The part of me, I think, that remembers being your assistant, and fearing for my life and my employ should I inadvertently make a mistake. Some poor Emily obviously passed on your letter thinking that she'd finally mastered the art of reading your mind, and will inevitably find, in due course, that she read it completely wrong. Of course, if you hadn't have written my name on the envelope and left it on your desk then she would not have had to worry herself half to death in her attempt to get the letter to this mysterious 'Andrea'. I hope you remember this before you worry her other half to death, but somehow I think that that is a fruitless hope. I shall just remain thankful that she is obviously not quite as adept as I became at attaining and maintaining your standards of perfection.

Not to blow my own trumpet but I think I managed to recognise what you wanted, or did not want, quite well even before you said it. Some days were exhausting, but for the most part, I didn't have to try very hard at this. Once I stopped thinking of the job as a stop gap, I wanted to do my very utter best. I know that is all that you strive for.

I realise by now, if you are even still reading, that you are rolling your eyes – inwardly, I know – and thinking something along the lines of 'get to the point'. That has never been my strong point. I like waffle, but I will try and quell my natural tendency to do it.

You are right, in a way, in that your substitution of actions for words will never be enough for me. As for the rest, however, I am afraid to inform you that you are, for once, wrong.

Forgive me. This is difficult, more so because I actually intend that you read this. Considering that I am now actively pursuing a career in journalism, my loss of adequate words and conciseness is shameful. How about I just dive straight in? I've always been quite good at that.

I realised what you were doing for quite some time. Working for you has, at least, put paid to my never ending naïveté. I realised that you were taking steps to get rid of me, and a part of me realised why, but then another part was so desperate, so despondent to think that you cared so little for me after all. I hadn't dared actually verbalise...whatever I felt was growing between us, but I was convinced that you felt the same. I couldn't imagine why you'd want to stop it. I think I get it now, or I at least understand your reasoning. That's not to say that I accept it, nor accept that your reasoning is accurate.

I understand why you make the decisions that you have to make, although you would be right in assuming that sometimes they are hard to accept. I know how hard you work, because however long your staff are at work, I know you can sometimes easily double it. I know that you have no room for error, or failure, because that would mean handing someone else an opportunity to twist the knife. I know you need this "hard ass bitch" reputation in order to stay at the top. To be the best. How good is it at the top, Miranda? I noticed that over the last year, you heart seemed to be elsewhere. Perhaps guilt has finally become the companion that you most wish to divorce? Forgive me if I am too forward.

I am not the rest of the world, Miranda. Nor am I anything like your ex-husbands, or even your children. Guilt. I know that you never give in to it, except perhaps on those occasions when the girls become the first in their school to have iPods, or private sky diving lessons or...unpublished manuscripts or some such thing. As you said, I am aware that they are, have always been, the exception and not the rule. I know that that is what keeps you the best at what you do; there is no need to explain this to me, Miranda. I have understood, since my first Paris Fashion Week, in that hotel suite when Stephen (forgive this, but The Bastard) rang. Business and personal, for you, is intrinsically entwined. There is no other way. I see that, have seen it for the whole five years that I worked for you, and I neither ask for nor expect any apology for it. I know that your girls will always come first, but that they also exist alongside the priorities at Runway. Sometimes, yes, the balance is unequal, but as with all things in life, nothing can be perfect.

I do not think that your drive and ambition at Runway is to the detriment of your family. The girls are accepting, and they, I think, are the only family that you have ever considered important. I do not know, for I haven't ever had reason to speak to them, and the short discussions we had never really revealed too much, but I can hazard a guess that your husbands fell in love with you; the powerful, enigmatic, enticing Miranda Priestly; thought that they had managed to charm you, to seduce you; thought that, once caught, you would become theirs, their trophy; that you would change, for them; I doubt if they realised that you were the one that charmed, that seduced, and had no intention of ever being anyone's trophy wife. I assume that they couldn't deal with the fact that you would forever be more famous – perhaps not more successful, as success is relative to one's chosen path – and content in your role. It makes me a little sad that you place me in the same category as them. I would never expect an apology because you were simply trying to do your best, and would always relish watching you shine; whether you accept that or not, believe that I believe it.

My point is, Miranda, that you have pushed me away thinking not that I would have left eventually, but thinking that I would have left hating you. You let your feelings become involved, and that's how I knew even before I read your letter, that when I asked you if you cared for me, if you would even miss me, I knew that the 'no' was a lie. I knew you needed to get rid of me, before you thought you would let your feelings override your better judgement.

I know that this fear comes with the guilt; the fear of letting anyone close, and the fear that anyone close will leave. I wouldn't have left you, Miranda. The job, perhaps, but that wasn't meant to be forever. You...I wouldn't have left you, unless you had sincerely wanted me too.

I am glad that you remember the times I laughed, because I was genuinely happy. Try to forget the times I cried; for the most part, the tears were because I wanted to help you, to do anything possible to make your life easier. I didn't want to disappoint. Perhaps, though, you are right on one point. Perhaps I would have wilted; perhaps this drive that I have to do my best, be my best for you, would have consumed my life until I realised that, actually, I no longer had one. That is on a professional level Miranda. Personally, I would love to have you in my life; personally, there would be no oxymoron.

I know that you have endeavoured to make my journalism career as smooth as possible, and for that I thank you, as I am not unhappy. Happiness...happiness is relative; my happiness, I think, is relative to the time I spent with you. I hope you do not go out of your way to avoid me, Miranda (though if questioned under pain of death, I promise never to admit that you would do such a thing anyway); this would be the worst type of apology you could offer, as the happiness that faded to not unhappy I think would quickly fade again, and not blossom as you seem to so adamantly believe.

All my love, whether you accept it or not,

Andrea

P.S. Andrea "Andy" Sachs would love to be your friend on Facebook.