I stare at the folded paper in my hand, with shaking fingers, the envelope discarded, now lying on the bed with his neat scroll on the front. I take an eternity to run my fingers across the neat lettering, pain shooting through me from every angle. I inhale deeply steadying my nerves, unfolding the thick cream paper, biting my lip. I drag courage from somewhere telling myself I should dive in and do it.
Emma,
I'm sorry, bambino, so extremely sorry. I don't even know what writing to you is going to achieve, but I had to do something. I saw them packing up every piece of you and I had to stop myself from tearing it out of their hands and holding onto it all. I can't bear it. I feel like everything they remove is a s***h across my heart.
I know I don't deserve you, I don't deserve your for
