Page 25 of Infamous

I can’t give her anything. Not a home. Not safety. Not a single goddamn morning.

So I do what I always do. I smooth the paper flat, tracing the words with my fingers like they’re her skin. Then I fold it, slow, careful - a practised ritual. I seal it again. I hand it to the guard. My voice is steady, even as I die inside. Every word I read kills me a little more, and yet, I don’t know why I still do read each and every one before I send them back.

“Send it back. Unread.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask and questions.

He’ll stamp itreturn to sender,and she’ll get it back, believing it untouched, unread.

That’s the lie we keep between us. Because Idoread them. Every single one.

I let her words carve me open, bleed me dry, then pretend I’m stronger than I am. Pretend she hasn’t kept me alive in here when everything else has tried to kill me.

But when the lights die and the cell goes quiet, I remember every line. Every promise. Every plea she pressed onto the page.

I whisper them into the dark, like a prayer, like punishment.

I tell myself this is mercy. That keeping her away is the only good thing left in me. But the truth? Every letter I send back unread kills me a little more.

And still - I wait for the next.

Dear Lucian,

I told myself I wouldn’t write again. That I’d stop clawing at the ghost of us like I could drag it back to life. But here I am. Pen shaking. Heart wrecked. Hating you and needing you in the same breath.

Do you remember the life we planned?

A house that smelled like coffee and rain.

A table scarred with wine rings and your tools.

A room full of sunlight for the children we swore would never grow up like us.

Because I do.Every. Goddamn. Day.

Now I live in the ruins of it.

You told me to move on…to build something new. But how do I build anything when every brick still belongs to you? Every laugh I hear sounds like yours. Every shadow looks like you.

No one else fits.

I’ve tried, Lucian. God help me, I’ve tried. But at night, I still reach for the space where you should be. No one will ever touch me the way you did - not just skin, but soul.

I hate you for that. I hate you for ruining me for anyone else. But more than hate, I love you. Still. Always. Against every reason, against every truth. It’s sick. It’s holy. But it’s mine.

Maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe you’ll tear it apart the way you tore me open when you told me to forget you. But I need you to know - even if only this paper ever holds the truth:

You killed our future, Lucian.

But you’ll never kill my love for you.

Yours,

Nadia

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NADIA