Arthur's eyebrows furrow when he sees your face full of confusion, anger in your eyes as you hold the letter so tight it might tear apart.

The same one he received from Mary a few weeks ago.

'Dear Arthur, I've written this letter a hundred times or more and I cannot get it right. It's me. You know it's me from the bad hand writing', the letter says.

Sure Arthur went after her and hid that from you, just like he hid the letter behind his bed. He swallows the lump on his throat, approaching you slowly.

"Look, sweetheart, 's not like that..." Arthur sighs, running a hand through his hair. He don't even know how to start explaining it. "I can explain. It's just a misunderstanding."