Either I stopped and took responsibility for what I’d done, in which case my life would be over. I might even lose you and our child. Or I drove on and pretended nothing had happened. I looked around; there wasn’t a soul in sight. No witnesses, just silence. So I chose the latter option. I left her there on the road. I thought that the decision would have to be made only once, and there could be no remorse. I don’t really recall what thoughts were going through my head as the car began to move – probably not too many. But the guilt and the shame were embedded in my very bone marrow, and since then there hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t struggled with the memory of what I did. The story was in the papers, of course, and I secretly read about the woman I’d hit. She actually survived, much to my surprise. I say survived, but everything she had once been was gone. That’s what we do, unfortunately – we keep people alive at any price.

By this point I’m sure you are deeply shocked, castigating me for my cowardice, wondering what the hell I was thinking. I was thinking about myself – that’s the short answer. And you and our daughter, and later our son. And that’s the way it stayed until a few months ago, and the day when everything changed. When everything came crashing down and I learned something about my own death that I could never have suspected. That’s when I decided I had to take responsibility for that terrible mistake. To atone for my crime.

So that’s what I’ve done. I’ve tried to compensate my victim, as far as possible at least. I’m afraid that in doing so I have inevitably left a trail. That’s why I’m writing this letter, because I think there’s a risk the police will start digging into the accident I caused, and might well track me down. Track me down and discover that I am dead, and of course that’s not how you should find out what I did. You need to hear it from me.

I ran into a young woman and left her lying on the road without attempting to help her. Others have done similar things, behaved atrociously and evaded all responsibility, but I don’t want you to remember me that way. That’s why I want to tell you that I’m different from those people. I am actually trying to take responsibility, in spite of all the years that have passed. As an author once said: I am putting everything right.

I’m afraid I can’t do any more.

I love you more than anything.

The Second Man:

THE HOUSE