He let me turn him in. He let me -- and they came, and he didn't fight them. He let them take him away. Because of me.

I'd say I was going to be sick, but I think I already am. Why else would I be wishing he hadn't?

I'm... finally calm enough, I think, that I can managed to type this out ( Read more... )

Clair? Clair, can I come over, or meet you somewhere? I have... some pretty remarkable news.

I have an aunt. And a camera. And a hundred things to do, good God. A million new questions...

And an ex-husband who loved me enough, last night, to finally tell me the truth.

Red gloves. And pain. And Clair, the second time... So little, but it's more than I've had, more than I've had for as long as I can remember.

Otto... if it's even you in there, anymore... I don't know what you did, or why -- but thank you.

My god. My god...

What is this?

Well, then.

So much for that.

I'm playing a dangerous game, here.

I've missed him, but I can't... he still needs to pay. Just let him off, let things go back how they were, and he'll do it again, and again. He'll think he can get away with it.

I have to either stop this, or -- make him understand that what goes on here doesn't affect anything else. Doesn't change anything.

I'm so tired of this. All of this. I want him dead. I want him somewhere, suffering, never able to hurt me again. Hurt his my children, like the people here suggested. I want to not be afraid, for them and for myself. I want to know who I really am. I want it all to stop.

Is that really so much to ask?

He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it. Lying, lying like he always does, the boy in the costume said he might have done it. Might have done all of this to me. You don't do that kind of thing to people you love.

I might have been a photographer, once.