No, Christopher. It won’t all work out in the end.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Dear Christopher,
I’m going home.
What that means, or what that looks like, I don’t know. But it’s time I find out.
Papa Rich and Scarecrow came to get me. I knew they would, and to be honest… I think the reason I was so afraid they’d find me is that I knew deep down I would want to go with them willingly. This is not a kidnapping. This is not a choice forced upon me.
I’m leaving because I want to.
You and I both know that I never fit in. Yes, I was trying… God, how I was trying. But this is not my home, just like Hallelujah Junction wasn’t yours. You were held captive against your will, and in many ways, that is how I feel now. I’ve had a chain around my ankle, and I finally found the key.
It’s Papa Rich… my family.
I know this doesn’t make sense to you. I know he’s a bad man in many ways, but fate brought us together when I was five, and fate has brought us together again. This is how it’s meant to be. And you living your life free of any obligations is how you are meant to be.
I know you love me, and I love you. I love you so very much, but love isn’t enough to blend our two lives together. I’ve always wanted to be a good wife. But I can’t in New York, no matter how hard I try. And I want to walk away knowing you love me before the love turns to resentment and even hate.
I’ve seen all the articles about you and me.
“A Demented Love Story” is the one that stays with me the most. Because it’s true. But in this love story, our happily ever after is not the traditional.
Do we still get a happily ever after? Yes, I believe so. It’s just that our story must have two different endings—one for you, and one for me. What’s happy for you is not going to be what’s happy for me.
It’s how our demented love story ends.
I should have freed you the minute you were taken captive. I should have removed that chain around your ankle on day one. Well… I am now. You’re free, Christopher.
I’m removing the chain.
You’re free.
~Ember
It’s time our demented love story comes to an end.
2
Christopher
“What do you mean she’s gone? Where did she go?” I ask, looking at my mother and then at Ms. Evans, who diverts her eyes from my glare. “To the park again?”
I don’t like the idea of her being alone, but I also understand I can’t be with her at all times either. I can’t expect her to stay locked away in her room all day.
“No, son. She left for good. She packed her bags and left.”
My mother’s words don’t make any sense. “What are you talking about? Where would she go? With what means? To whom? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Go see for yourself,” my mother says as I’m already halfway up the stairs, heading to our room.
It feels as if someone is gripping my heart and squeezing tight as I storm into the room and see a letter resting on the foot of the bed. I don’t need to check the closet to know Ember’s gone. I can already feel she’s not here.
Picking it up with shaky hands, I read the Dear John letter from hell. The words swim on the paper, and no matter how hard I struggle to focus on Ember’s delicate penmanship, I’m unable to let the words sink in. What is she saying? How can this be true?
She left.
She left with Richard!
She willingly left with a madman.
I sit on the bed, because I have to or fall to the ground instead. I keep rereading the words over and over in hopes that they will make sense to me. In hopes that there is some explanation or cure for the shattered heart that’s somehow beating a mile a minute in my chest.
A demented love story.
I’m removing the chain.
You’re free.
It’s how our demented love story ends.
“It’s for the best,” I hear from the doorway of the room.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, looking down at the letter. How could Ember write these words to me? I then shoot my eyes at my mother, feeling rage replace the sinking hole of despair in my heart. “You let those crazy men take her? Did they threaten you? Please tell me they held you at gunpoint, because that is the only defense for allowing Ember to leave with them.” I drop the letter as if it’s burning my fingertips and run my hands through my hair. “Jesus Christ. We need to call the police.”
“She chose this,” my mother says as she enters the room. “I wasn’t going to stand in her way. I’m not going to hold her captive like they did to you. Hate me for it, son, but I believe she made the right choice.”