Not letting go

Coppelia could not let go.

She wrote him a letter, by hand in purple ink.
She did not post it immediately, she wanted it ready for when the time was right.

She made a photograph album for him.
She chose a beautiful dark pink book with black leaves, and filled it with their happiness, their laughter, their love, with memories she knew may pierce his resolve.

Restless, she felt sick, heavy and agitated. Unable to concentrate, to connect. Her friends and family were there for her but there was little to be done. She considered how to end her life.

That week he rang her from his brother's in Bristol. He was concerned about Coppelia, he wanted to know how she was. Such a civil conversation. She was honest but calm, he missed her dreadfully and wished he had an answer.

He and H had taken the doctor's advice to spend time apart, and at last he had space to think in peace. Could he ring her again sometime? She tried to hope. How wonderful to hear him, to have some contact!

The dark storm raging over her broke for a moment and she wandered in sunlight.

Coppelia, have faith - this cannot die.

She learned from him that they would not be back home until the following Monday.
So that Saturday, not able to rest, she took a train to Peterborough.