The trees were half seen and half hidden in the mist. It was a year ago today. Or maybe some other day, I can't recall it. I woke up early and wore the same dress I was wearing yesterday.
I did my never-changing hairstyle. I believe or made myself to believe this is the only style suits my curly blonde hair.
Thinking if I should read that letter, I sat on the chair by the window. My palms got sweaty, my heart started to race just as when I found it on the Persian carpet a year ago.
Rubbing my hands together I stood up and walked the dark room up and down.
I gazed at the carpet. I hid it under it and never touched it again for a year.
Apples, peaches, quinces, and Armenian plums fell as I lifted the corner of the carpet. I was holding the few words firmly in my hand now.
The daylight and the smell of earth entered through the window, as I opened it and drew the red curtain. Some sorrow, not my own, filled the room, which was also my own.
I heard Abram and Adlar, Mevrouw Josien's twin sons murmuring the song Greensleeves.
I opened the letter:
My dearest Heleen;
I am sorry.