Dear Tommy,
I don't know how to begin. Every time I sit down with my pen and paper, the words tangle up and turn to knots in my throat, and I can't bring myself to write.
I thought silence might be easier than trying to explain myself, but silence has only hurt us both. I've been so afraid you'd think I stopped caring, when the truth is the exact opposite. I've never cared more, and I've never missed you. or needed you more than I do now.
I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry for the long weeks where your letters went unanswered, for the worry I caused you, for the doubts that must have eaten at you. Please believe me when I say it wasn't because I stopped loving you. Because I never did. I never could.
It's because of something that happened — something I didn't know how to put on paper, something I didn't want to stain our happiness with.
But the longer I've kept it from you, the more it's built up inside me. I can't hide anymore. I have to tell you.
The truth is, I was hurt.
One night after work, a boy followed me — someone I knew from school. You don't know him, I barely know him. His name is Harry Cooper. He dragged me into the alley behind the shops. He said cruel things, things meant to scare me, to make me feel small, and when I tried to leave, he hurt me. He was rough, angry, and he wanted to… take something from me that wasn't his to take.
I fought him, Tommy. I screamed. I didn't stop fighting, even when he hit me. I kept fighting him and screaming. But it wasn't enough, not until Teddy found me. My brother pulled him off me, and he fought him until Harry ran away. Teddy saved me, but even after he was gone, I felt like I couldn't breathe.
I'm safe now. I promise you that. My family has been so strong for me — Teddy, Mum, Dad — they've all wrapped around me like a shield. They've let me cry, they've sat with me, they've let me be quiet when I needed to. They've reminded me that I am loved, no matter what. But even with their comfort, I can't pretend it hasn't changed me.
I feel like I've been walking through a fog since that night. Sometimes I feel strong, like I can keep going, like it won't define me. Other times I feel so fragile, like the world is too loud, too close, and I want to shut myself away from it. I hide in my room more than I should. I've been off work because I couldn't face the bakery, couldn't face the customers, or the streets where it happened.
And through it all, your letters sat unopened. Not because I didn't want them, but because I couldn't bear to let myself read them. I was terrified of what you'd think of me if you knew. I thought that maybe you'd look at me differently, that I'd somehow be less to you.
But then, last night, I was missing you so much, I felt so lonely, that I finally opened them. One by one, I read your words, your worry, your patience, your love. Each one broke me a little more, but not in the way I feared. It broke me open, let me feel everything I'd been holding back. And then I realised: you are the one I need, not the one I need to shut out. You are my strength, Tommy, the one who sees me truly, the one who gives me hope that this won't be the end of me.
I miss you so much. I miss your smile, your voice, the way you make me laugh even when I don't want to. I miss the safety I feel when I'm with you, the way you hold me like the world can't touch me. I miss the promises we whispered, the ones that made me believe in tomorrow.
I want you to know, even after everything — especially after everything — I still want that tomorrow with you. I want us. I want to keep building the little world we made together, the one where it's just you and me and nothing else matters. Someday.
But I have to be honest again. Things aren't easy here. We reported Harry to the police, and while they've been supportive, the process is draining. I have to keep retelling what happened, and every time it feels like tearing the scab open again. I live the horror of it all again. I feel his hands on me again. I know it's the only way to get justice, but it's exhausting.
And because I haven't been able to work, I don't have the money saved like I thought I would. I'd been holding onto the thought of September, of coming to you, of seeing you again and letting all the waiting finally end. But now, I won't have enough. Not yet. It crushes me to write this, but I need to be truthful: I won't be able to visit you when I'd hoped.
I'm scared this will push us apart, that the distance will grow heavier instead of lighter. But please, Tommy, don't let it. Please hold onto me through this. I promise, I will find my way back to you.
This letter is messy, I know. My handwriting is blotched with my tears, my words are heavy, but they are real. Every line is the truth of what's inside me. And the truest thing i know, through all of this: I love you. I love you in a way that hasn't dimmed, even under all this fear. If anything, I love you more, because now I see just how much I need you, how much I always will.
So please, don't give up on me. Wait for me, like I've been waiting for you. Believe in me, in us, the way you always have. I'll keep writing now — no more silence. You'll hear from me every week, even if it's only a few lines, even if it's just to tell you I'm still here, still loving you.
I'm yours, Tommy. Always.
Love forever,
Emma