I am guessing that you are seeing someone else. So be it. This is the last time I write to you. I have nothing more to say. Have a good life.
So ends the latest missive from a woman who has been writing me for about 25 years. I have no idea who she is. The letters are never signed, there is never a return address. The postmark says only, “Southern CT.”
She can go years between letters, then she’ll send one a day. She is clearly a troubled soul.
I hope it is the last time she writes me. But I also hope she’ll be OK. Whoever she is.