It took Millie close to two hours to write the letter. She used her nicest stationary, the cream-colored paper with a border of delicate, twining violets. Instead of her usual ballpoints, she borrowed one of Delia’s beat-up but functional fountain pens so the lines of her letters flowed more organically.
She went through five drafts before she was done, the pages crumpled in frustration and piled in one corner of the desk.
When she was finally finished, and the ink had dried, Millie folded it into the shape of a flower and took it to the altar in her closet. Kneeling down, she adjusted the arrangement of flowers--dried, not fresh, now that winter was approaching. Her fingers trailed along the edge of a beaten metal dish she’d found in a secondhand shop before she breathed deeply and lit the altar’s candles.
As thin wisps of smoke curled upward, she clutched the paper flower to her chest and closed her eyes, meditating on the words within and holding them in her heart like prayer.
When the moment felt right, she held the flower to the flame of one of the candles, then set it in the dish to watch it burn to ash. The smoke carried away the words she had so carefully written:
When we first met, I thought that we were alike. I saw someone who understood what it was to be hurt, but instead of responding with bitterness, sought to bring more light and kindness to the world. I saw not just our shared love for flowers, but a shared desire to be gentle in all things.
I was wrong. This is not a judgment on your character. It’s important you know that. But I misunderstood you, and I based all my expectations of you on that misconception. In doing so, I have done you a great disservice, for which I am so, so sorry.
That said, you have done a number of things which I cannot easily forgive. You have lied to me. You have willingly let someone be hurt by your actions, when such harm could have been avoided. You have attempted to manipulate me into a situation with which I was not comfortable. You threatened one of my friends under my roof. While these actions may be true to who you are, they run contrary to the values and ideals I strive to live by.
I wish that you had come to me before things progressed to this point. I wish I had made certain you knew you could talk to me about anything you might be struggling with. Above all, I wish we had been on the same page from the beginning.
As things are, I cannot in good conscious, for my sake and the sake of those dear to me, continue in your service. Perhaps one day things will be different. But for now, this is the last prayer I send your way.
May your days grow easier, your path clearer, and your future brighter. I sincerely wish the best for you. Never doubt that.
For some minutes after the letter had burnt itself to little more than ash, Millie sat in front of the altar with hands folded. She had meant every word, and she hoped Eve would feel her earnestness in them.
With a heavy heart, she blew out the candles, got to her feet, and began to carefully disassemble and pack away the altar.
