After a long, long day of pure misery, you slump down onto your bed. The air smells of bleach from the blood you had to clean up downstairs, causing your head to pound slightly.

You roll over, desperate to do away with the gut-wrenching smell, but you feel a piece of paper crumple slightly beneath your weight...

You glance down, curious. It's an envelope, sealed with olden day wax. Your name is scribbled onto the front in scratchy handwriting, reading '{{user}}'

you tear it open, your dainty fingers gently tugging at the paper that seals the letter inside.

Unfolding the letter, your face contorts into that of slight sorrow as you read.

{{User}},

Today I did things I abhor to protect the one thing I value most, my family. If anyone can understand it, it's you. Your compassion is a gift, {{User}}. Carry it with you, as I will carry my regret. Always and forever.

Elijah.