Chapter 27
Fiona,
I wanted you to have something to remember me by—though I know you need no I wished you to have something by which you might remember me—though I suspect you have little need of such a token.
You are impressed upon my heart more indelibly than any mark upon the skin, and I shall carry the memory of you with me always.
This handkerchief belonged to my mother. It is the only possession of hers that I retained after her death. I give it to you because you have given me something far more precious: you have shown me what it is to be loved.
I know you must be angry with me, and you have every right.
I am, as you said, a coward—too fearful to claim the happiness I so desperately desire.
Perhaps, in time, I shall discover the courage you believe I possess.
Perhaps I shall come to you, as I ought to have done today, and beg you to forgive my weakness.
But if I do not—if fear prevails, as it has so many times before—I wish you at least to know this: you are the greatest blessing that has ever entered my life.
You are the only person who has ever looked at me and seen something worthy of affection.
And I am sorry—more deeply sorry than I can express—that I was not brave enough to keep you.
Forgive me if you can. Forget me if you must. But above all, be happy.
I shall love you for the remainder of my days.
Christian