Willow Hewitt's Page

The dust had faked tan-lines on your skin. In your room you washed yourself clean and whiter than ever. To get to your bed you parted the net that you had ineffectively patched with duct tape. The sheets you lay down on felt gritty with overwashing. You didn’t mention these things in your letters. But I still knew.
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It was perfect for the ‘and finally’ section of the news, and so within a week everybody seemed to know about your apology. I never even saw the billboard – your ten foot tall ‘sorry, please take me back’. I couldn’t leave the house without being stopped in the street by people asking if I would forgive you, if your public declaration of remorse would melt my resolve to get divorced. I’m just writing this letter to give the answer to you personally, in private, between you and me. No. Sorry.

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