26 January 1895

I have so many things to say to you, and most of them are apologies. You and I have lived the same trials and have vastly different memories of the event. This is not a criticism, but an observation of how horribly far intent can veer from result. I love you and I failed you. I would never be so careless about the reputation of another, especially when there are those I care for, beyond yourself, that find themselves in similar situations. I will write further, but please understand that I do not write to fight you. I want to fight for you and I think that a significant difference.

Angel

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26 January 1895

Emrys,

I do not know what to say. I do not know what to say, so I should say what I know to be true:

1. I love you, whatever you think of me.
2. You have every right to loathe me.
3. I am sorry.
4. I am embarrassed.
5. I would never endanger you.
6. I wouldn’t throw your lover to the wolves.

I also confront a truth I have never needed to give much thought: I am jealous. I am jealous of the phantom in the room with us when we speak, this mystery lover that haunts me. I am jealous, but then I feel some sense of kinship that makes me want to know him. That frightens me. This all frightens me because I have no example upon which to proceed.

Angel

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27 January 1895

Emrys,

You were clear that intent was irrelevant and I don’t protest. I don’t believe that absolves me of the need to explain myself. No, I’ve not hoped to score some great victory in puzzling out your lover. I asked after him in an attempt to engage in your life. On my life and yours, I would never betray your connection. If you will not trust my word alone, consider how foolish I would look if I told the world my husband shunned me for a man. If that still is not enough, consider how you hold enough in your hands that you could ruin me with little more than a thought.

I will not argue with you. I did not have a right to your lover.

I do not know what to call him, but lover seems distasteful. It burned me at every opportunity in my desire for you, it’s a word I should never have to hear as your wife, and yet, here we are.

I am angry, but I don’t know how to explain why. I’m angry that I’m not enough for you. I’m angry, now, that I cannot imagine you ever writing so passionately about me. I’m angry that I don’t hate him or you.

I wish, now and until I am successful, for our reconciliation. That feels simple and ridiculous, because I don’t want to go back to pretending, I want us both to be bloody happy.

I have no defense for the harm my actions caused. My intentions were insufficient and irrelevant. From the depths of my heart, I am sorry.

Angel

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