“My dearest Priest…” I lowered into the desk chair and recited the opening from memory. “Last night, I didn’t just welcome you into my body. I let you into my heart. Again.”

My voice quivered, and I closed my eyes against the anguished look on his face.

To hell with his anguish.

A week after we became husband and wife, he sneaked out of our bed and left the room we’d rented in Nassau. Early the next morning, he returned, saying he hadn’t been able to sleep. Given his pallid, disheveled appearance, I thought he was ill.

Until I found the letter in his discarded trousers.

I’d memorized every painful word over the past two years.

His gaze remained fixed on his lover’s words, his demeanor darkening, as he read in silence what I recited in my head.

My dearest Priest,

Last night, I didn’t just welcome you into my body. I let you into my heart. Again. I won’t call it a mistake. Never that. But it was desperate. A wildly pleasurable, terribly desperate moment of weakness.

I should have waited until you woke to say this in person. But we both know I cannot deny you. Not face to face when you look at me the way you do, with a love so intense I think you might die from it.

So I shall pen this clearly and with a coward’s heart.

We cannot see each other again.

No more stolen nights. No more sneaking around. No more risking our lives to be together. My family, my obligations, my very existence put you in danger, just as yours threatens everything I’ve accomplished.

I cherish every trice we had over the years. Not just the orgasms, but the friendship we shared. The familiarity. The laughter. The sorrow.

The passion.

My love for you will endure, even though last night shall be our last.

It is my most devout hope that this ache will dull on both sides with time. Even so, in these final moments before I must leave, I realize I will be less happy, less honest, and less human without you.

I know I must let you go, and someday I will. But for now…

For now, respect my wishes.

Stay away. Move on. Find love.

Forgive me.

I must leave now before I give into the temptation to join you once again in bed. As I stare at you from across the room, I’ll never forget this view of your flawlessly nude body sprawled across the tangled counterpane. Sated. Peaceful. Magnificent. I’ll remember it well, knowing I put that tranquil expression on your handsome face if only for one more night.

May God watch over you and keep you safe, my heart.

No signature. No name to put with the words that so effectively destroyed my marriage.