One letter a day.
It wasn’t intentional, or at least not at first. He had
never set out to write daily, it’s just that every day he had something he had
to jot down in a letter to his wife, away on company business. By the time he
noticed that he was losing the hour between 2 and 3
pm every day, it was habit, so he stuck with it.
He poured his heart out onto those pages, his thoughts, his
feelings, his very soul, all expressed via fountain pen. It was such a relief.
Until she found them all.
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