Dear John by Peggy Rockey
The handwriting on the envelop was hers. He recognized her sloppy penmanship, the green ink she favored. She’d kissed the envelop with red lipstick instead of adding a return address. It was the first letter she’d sent since they parted.
He pressed his lips against the impression of hers, inhaling the scent of… paper?
Where was the perfume she usually spritzed?
Foreboding tore at his soul as he tore open the envelop, extracted the single page contained within.
“Dear John,”
Oh, hell no! She never started letters with “Dear John,” it was always “My sweet love,” or “My darling.” He didn’t want to read further, but did anyway.
“It’s been so long since we’ve been together, I hardly remember what you look like, the sound of your voice, the feel of your arms around me. I know we had plans to be together, happy-ever-after and all that; but I just can’t go on like this, not knowing if I will ever see you again.
“I’ve met someone, John. We’re going to be married.”
The fucking bitch! Crumpling the letter, he threw it to the ground in a rage. Retrieved it a moment later and continued reading.
“He’s a good man; he treats me well. Better than I deserve, I’m sure. What you and I had wasn’t real, we were living in a make-believe world. I know you maintain that I encouraged you to kill my husband, but of course I didn’t. The lawyers proved that, didn’t they? I certainly never thought you would actually do it, especially when I was filing for divorce.
“Good bye, John. Have a good Life Without Parole.”
She’d sealed the letter with a kiss, red lipstick smiling up at him where her signature should be, a mockery and a reminder of all he had lost.
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