Page 44 of In Their Hearts
Or begging God for answers.
That kind of grief burns itself out.
Mine calcified. Hardened to the point it can’t be undone.
I sit at the small desk by the window in my hotel room. Reflecting on the man I was supposed to have. The one taken from me. From his family.
That little bitch. Jolee Fern. She was always in the way. Getting between us.
She did this to all of us.
She took more than one life. Poor Sherry couldn’t handle the pain anymore and I didn’t want her to suffer any longer.
I helped her find her son again. I promised I’d finish my work and see them all soon.
I’m sure she thinks my letters are cruel. That I write them out of spite. That I am lashing out because I cannot bear my own pain.
That’s the story she prefers. It makes me smaller. Easier to dismiss.
But I don’t write in anger.
I write in clarity.
I smooth the last envelope flat on the desk, aligning it with the edge. It’s the last one I will ever write to her or anyone.
To whoever finds this, you will know my truth after I’m long gone.
I’ve spent eight years pretending that I have it together. Pretending to move on. Hopeful that I could’ve saved his mother. That somehow Andy would come back.
I replay the months before his death with careful attention to the details.
He said he was leaving her.
That he would be with me.
Marry me.
That night, he left my bed to go back to her. I lost it. Yelled and screamed at him. I realize now my error. I should’ve gotten rid of her. She was the problem.
I’d be a happily married wife with kids. His mother would still be alive. We’d be the family everyone wishes they had.
But he died that night. Fucking running back to her. Again. Like he promised he wouldn’t do. That accident wasn’t meant for him. It should’ve been for her.
I had made plans, or so I thought. Until I saw Jolee again and those… men. How dare she think she can be with two? She couldn’t even do right with the one she never really had.
I took over writing the letters for Sherry. She wasn’t getting the message across that was needed. Jo was getting too comfortable. Too happy.
And now, seeing for myself the company she keeps. I can’t let this continue. But my plan has changed. Morphed into what really needs to be done.
She needs to suffer as I have. As his family has.
They say adults make their own choices.
Of course they do.
But influence is quieter than choice. It seeps in unknowingly and unrelentingly.
I will not allow her to continue.
