Dear Jane,

I’m sorry, I should have tried to reach you earlier. I tried calling you, but your number wasn’t in service. There was nothing I could do. I even showed up at your house, but it was for sale.

You are so perfect for me, but I went and ruined everything. I know you could never forgive me for all the things I said and did. It’s just that, Jane, I love you. I miss you, and I need you back. At first I never wanted to see you again, but now that’s all I want. I realize that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

You must be so alone. People have stopped visiting you since the incident. Even I did, but I promise to start coming again.

Love,

John

Dear Jane,

I finally visited your grave today. Everything got worse. I know it’s too late because you’re gone now. I wish I could tell you how truly sorry I am. I’m sorry we fought. I wish we hadn’t fought that night. I regret that the last thing I said to you was “I hate you”, because I don’t.

Finally, I’m sorry about how it ended. I still need you, Jane. I love you.

Love,

John

I trudged home from work today, as I had everyday since the day Jane passed. Nothing felt the same to me. Then I saw it sitting on my doorstep--a muddy, bloodstained letter. I ran to read it, exhilarated. My hands trembled as I picked up the letter. It left my hands stained with blood and dirt. When I opened the letter I saw Jane’s familiar handwriting, written in a hurried scrawl.

John,

I know things didn’t go well last time we saw each other. I’ll come over tonight and we can work things out. It’s not so bad here. I’m sure you’ll like it when you come back with me . . .

A million emotions flooded my mind at once--joy, excitement, but mostly fear. I felt fear because she can’t come back. She can’t come back.

She can’t ever come back because I killed her.