Later, Nelly heard an upstairs window banging in the wind. When she went to close it, she found Heathcliff lying on his bed, soaked from the rain that had blown in during the night. He had a smile on his face so radiant that it was only when she touched his freezing skin that Nelly realised he was dead.

*

Hareton was the only living soul that truly grieved for Heathcliff. He married my daughter. The newlyweds moved to Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights was left to its ghosts.

Heathcliff and I walk the moor while my books crumble into dust. We watch from the crag while the names on the window ledge wear away to nothing.

Catherine Earnshaw – the girl I was born.

Catherine Linton– the wife I became.

Catherine Heathcliff – who I am in my heart. Who I am in my soul.

We were then. Are now. And ever shall be.

Catherine. Heathcliff.