Dear Catheca:

I don't know why I'm writing this. You're not going to read it, and you wouldn't care if you were still alive anyway. And yet, here I am, up at about 4 AM, writing to someone that left a long time ago.

Maybe this is a confession of sorts, something that I keep secret, even from myself. I still think about you, in my dreams, and at work especially. You were sick then, like them, worse than them... Right now, I'd be able to help you. I would be able to save you instead of watching your mind waste away like that, and being unable to do anything... Being useless. Maybe you'd be here now.

Speaking of your being here... I guess it's my turn to think of what could have been. What if you got better? What if you stayed? You should know I was planning on giving you another ring, a diamond one. I know you'd want an elegant wedding, so I'd make do with what we had after the war. You've always deserved the best, Kit. Children? Maybe. I'll tell you from experience that it wouldn't be easy, but it's rewarding. Katrina would have loved you. I'd taken her in when I found her soon after the war, an orphan. I remember you liking that name, Katrina. It wasn't always easy, but I made sure to take care of her... She's grown into a curious and bright young lady... Sometimes she reminds me of you... But of course that has to be my mind playing tricks. I've a different frame of mind since the war, but I assure you, I'm fine, if I weren't, I'd know.

You know Fievel misses you a lot. He tries to distract himself with getting your family's old business up and running, and caring for his own children, but I know he misses you. Not that he confides in me or anything, more like he's got it in his head that I killed you. In a way I was responsible... I couldn't do anything to help you, and that was just as bad. But, I've told him I'd rather die than hurt you. Even now, the thought of you in so much pain back then sickens me.

Why, Kit? Why does the thought of you hurting still hurt me so much? Why after what happened? I need to know, did you mean that? Or was it the illness talking? You screamed that you never loved me and ran off into the night. I've heard the opposite from you more than enough before then, and I could tell it wasn't empty. Was it your broken mind? Or was really you? What does it matter anyway? Those words and your disappearance hurt enough. It was the last time I saw you, and I haven't heard from you since. Either you're dead, or you meant it. I gave you everything I had, loved you for you instead of your parents' money. Kit, no, Catheca, you haven't any idea how a broken heart feels. I tried to make sense of what happened to you... figured along the way, I'd change my course of study... If I couldn't help you, I could help others. It's still not enough, you know. I have Katrina to take care of now, but it's still not enough.

Why do I still feel this way? Why can't I hate you for that night? Why... Why do I still love you? It doesn't matter. You won't answer.

Sincerely yours,

Marcel

(Author's note - Read the companion (ish) letter here)