The Spencer Letters

Letter to Harry.

Dear Harry,

I know you're not a fan of indirect communication, but sometimes I feel things I cannot put into words when I speak, and writing them is the only way I have of setting them free.

In this case, I chose to do this in a letter also because there are things I may never be brave enough to say to your face. Not because I'm afraid or weak, but because it would upset me greatly to watch you react to my words, whether they hurt you, they flatter you, move you, or they don't affect you at all.

The past couple of months have been the worst, the best and the hardest of my whole life. But it's time that I have some peace. For the baby.

Even though the emotional roller coaster ride we're on won't come to an end any time soon, I need it to at least slow down. My mind could use some clarity and my heart is on its knees begging me for a break. And no matter how much I want to believe it's all up to me that my mind and heart's demands are met, that can't happen without your help.

I don't want you to think I'm not aware this is hard on you, too. I'm aware this doesn't affect only me. I'm aware of how you feel and I'm aware of all the sacrifices you're making to do what you think is right. What we think is right.

I meant what I said, there is no "we" right now. But that doesn't mean I don't trust there will be a "we" in the future. I just think you're more confident than I am that this future will come some time soon.

Monique told me about Stephanie's fainting spells. I'm sure you didn't mention that to me because you (naturally) thought it's one more thing adding to the list of complications that keep us apart. And it is.

When she fainted after you broke the news to her about my pregnancy, I had figured it caught her at a bad moment when she hadn't eaten or something, and the shock caused her to pass out. But if she's been having them in reaction to emotional stress every time something happens, minimal as it may be, then she's in a much worse condition than we anticipated. And all of that means work, and work means time.

Time to take care of her, time to convince her to seek the professional help she needs and has been rejecting, time to make her see she can't burden you with her wellbeing, time to show her that mental and emotional issues don't go away just with medication, time to break the chains that tie her to you, time for her to accept that her life can't depend on the love of another person.

Probably I never told you this before, but I admire you for putting her needs ahead of yours, her health before your happiness, her life before your freedom. Most men would run from that responsibility. Add having a baby with another woman at the same time and while your brother is in a coma in the hospital? Anybody else would have disappeared by now. But not you.

I'm sorry if I don't recognize your efforts or give you credit for all you do. It's proven easier to be mad at you than in awe of you, so I apologize for always taking the easy road when it comes to judging you.

There was a time when we were eighteen and you tried to console me after I learned about Aunt Liz's cancer diagnosis that I felt like I had never loved you more than I did in that moment. The love I felt was so strong I was convinced I'd never be able to love you more than that.

I was wrong.

Even if I seem like I don't, right now is the most I've ever loved you. And I thought you should know that in case you were having any doubts.

It's such a relief to be able to tell you those kind of things now! I hid my feelings for you from you for so long that sometimes I felt I had buried them too deep within me and I would never, ever, be able to get them out. But here they are, all of them, in this letter.