...A love letter comes in the post, with "love, XXX" at the end. And the man who reads it knows who its from even though theres no name. And many years later in autumn, he comes home from work early to surprise that girl he married. He comes home early to find her leaving. But no, he won't let her leave. He gave her everything, so she won't leave with anything of his, he says, she won't take a thing of his if she leaves him now, with nothing but wet dead leaves he tries to wipe from his work shoes. So she tries to explain but he doesn't hear what she says, only cars passing and the hammer of the clock on the bedroom wall. And knowing she is pregnant he cuts her throat, fury and loss, cuts her open and the baby sees light for the first time with dead eyes and never has a chance. Oh, she has her mothers eyes. And he doesn't hear anything but the cars and the clock, or see anything but a wasted past and an empty future. And when the police come the next day the angry husband and his bloodied hands are sitting in his chair cradling a cold still baby and his forgiving quiet wife is marked red in her own blood, curled cold and still on her new carpet, cradled by no-one. And later, when they read him the farewell note from his wife he came home too early to receive, and is told, the child wasn't his, he says yes, now he is sorry. But what happened, it seems very far away now, and may he keep the letter, because it says goodbye, and love, XXX...
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