Ink and Love: Letters for My Little Ones

Previously

…She should have left sooner, she knew that now. The exit sign had been clear, flashing its warning in the darkness. But love, twisted and distorted by fear, had become a prison, and she had been too afraid to unlock the door. She didn't blame him, not entirely, and she didn't blame herself today. But she blamed the onlookers, the silent witnesses to their slow, agonizing demise. She blamed the hands that hadn't reached, the eyes that had averted. She blamed the way they had fueled a hollow, burning-out desire. Now, a wall stood between them, a testament to the blueprints they had never fulfilled.