September 21st, 1888

Annabelle Scrimgeour,

It took me long to write this and even as I do, I write slowly to avoid writing the wrong thing or allowing my hands to drift - they are getting weaker, I have noticed.

I do not wish to know where you are. I just wish you and the family to be safe. I do not wish forgiveness and I know that would be an impossible ask. I cannot request forgiveness of you when I cannot forgive myself. These halls - these stone walls - they are cold and damp. It is more than I deserve.

All I wish is for you to understand that I was not myself. How I acted around you - around all of my children - is not the man I am. It is not the man I ought to have been. I acted in ways I shall regret until my last breath.

Know this, Annabelle, you have grown into a strong woman I daresay I am proud of. I am not proud of how you have acted but I place blame on your actions on myself. It was my responsibility to ensure you grew up to be everything you should have been and instead, I allowed you - encouraged you - to go down a path I did not wish of you. It is a responsibility I failed.

I have failed as a father and a husband and that is my doing.

When I came to you that night, my mind went dark and I could not see my own reflection.

I trust you will make a life of yourself that you are happy in.

Your father,
Argus Scrimgeour

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