Dear Emma

Dear Emma,

Hi, it's me. I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now but I just feel compelled to write to you.

The last time I saw you was in the court. You were reading out your victim statement and I couldn't gather the courage to even look you in the eye, but I want you to know that I heard every word. I understand the devastation to your life, and I am sorry, I am so sorry, I feel sick all the time now, and I replay over and over in my mind what happened. The look on your faces, the shock and horror of the aftermath, the blue flashing lights and sirens, the gathering of people looking and taking pictures or videos and the blood, so much blood.

The next thing I remember I woke up in the hospital with a bad headache and cuffs on my wrist. I had given myself a concussion but was soon transferred from the hospital to the police station. I had a lot of time to think about what I had done. My parents came to see me and whilst I cried on my mums shoulder, my dad stood in the corner, shaking his head and staring into my soul with judgemental eyes. He didn't verbally chastise me but his silence was deafening. I'd never had that many friends, which proved to be true when no-one else came to see me, not that I blamed them, I didn't want to be associated with me either.

The first few months in prison were the worst. When the cell door locked, I finally knew I wouldn't be getting out again and this hit me hard, I gave way to depression and took whatever was thrown at me, my cell mate stabbing me, being put into isolation for months at a time, overdosing and being raped by that guards. I deserved all that and worse and now it's time for me to end it. I wanted you to know that if I see her before I go to hell, I'll tell her how sorry I am that because of me she didn't get chance to grow old and live and love and experience all the things she should have. I'll tell her how much her mum loves and misses her and promise her that one day she'll see her mum again.

Helen

After receiving the letter, Emma did what she would normally do at 3pm every day, she walked to her daughters grave, sat beside it, read the letter and weeped for all she had lost aand for all that could have been. She spent some time weeding and rearranging the toys she had placed there then she stood up to walk home. With her last look back she saw the roses she was growing had bloomed. she turned to feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on her face, closed her eyes and thought of her little girl Chloe.