So, I sent it, and bright and early he had written back.
I tried to read it, but it is a gigantic book, mostly full of his angry ramblings, and I couldn't handle more than a skim-through. Of course he thinks the ultimate sin is my sneaking into his email account, and has explanations out his ass for the whole thing which I don't know if I can take. Not to say he's sorry, (sociopaths-or whatever the chic term is these days- never are), because I didn't hear word one of that. But, in the end, I'm the one with the light and he's the one with dibilitating insecurities. I think it was cathartic to get that letter out of me. Now this section of my life can curl up and blow away to the place in my mind where the most wrenching days of third grade live, never to be seen again.
