I am not bound for India, but for “the grave”, that you and the children might live a better, fuller life without the spectre of the full moon hanging over your heads.

The air must have been sucked from the room completely. It was the only explanation for how she could have slipped off of the seat in her dressing room and collapsed on the ground only to stare at the letter in her hand. Her husband was not one for cruel jokes, so that left little for her to grasp at as she read and re-read his message. There was a pressure on her chest that mounted as she did so, and Veronica had to tell herself to keep breathing. Soon stars had clouded her vision and she leaned forward onto her forearms as a wail of despair threatened to burst from her lips.

The sharp sting of the edge of parchment scraping against her palms drew her attention, and she looked up only to see the room had gone blurry.

Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she grasped the letter once more, smoothing the paper out on the floor to re-read it again. She lost track of how may times she read his words over and over, trying to parse any other meaning from them than her husband had left them. I must thank you most ardently for the companionship you have given me over these years, and for the two beautiful, bright, darling children that you have given me.

No such message came to her no matter how many times she oriented the paper or tried to decipher some other code from the letters.

When a noise sounded through the hallway outside, Veronica had shot up before she even realized what she’d done. Darting to the door, she wrenched it open. “Nathaniel?!” She shouted, bursting into the hallway, letter in hand as she searched for him. “Nath - oh.” Instead of her husband, she found his son - her son - there instead.