07/05/2025

To my darling Antoinette,

It is worse than what we feared. Marie is gone. I mean truly gone. Our daughter is dead.

I know you said that I was just thinking too much about it, about how she never wrote us for our birthday this year. But I know that I could feel something was wrong. Terribly wrong. You know what I always carried the ache of how we became separated from our own blood. But what I felt when we did not hear even the slightest word four our birthdays was an entirely different pain. It was not an ache. It felt like a void. A hole carved deep into my heart that I now know I can never fill. Marie is dead, An. And it is all my fault.

I will call you tonight after I’ve gone and seen where they’ve placed our daughter. So, you will likely already have heard everything about Marie before you receive this letter. I just need to write everything down. I am sorry that you will have to read this and remind yourself again that our daughter is gone. I am sorry, my darling. But you know that sometimes it just helps me if I journal everything I am feeling inside. So, please. I need to write this. Please.

This is all my fault, An. I know it. The more and more I think about it, the more I realize that it is all my fault. I drove our little girl away. I built the bridge for Marie to leave, thinking she would come back after she discovered how harsh the world was. When really, all I did was cast her out into the wild that she couldn’t have survived on her own. She was alone, An! She was all alone out here. And that was all my fault.

---

When I arrived in Peetsurg, it didn’t take me long to discover what had happened to Marie. I quickly found a hotel open to tourist, and then I headed for the theatre on the postcards she would send us. The Ag Theatre. I figured she must have played there. Her love for the viola was one of the main reasons we could never get her to help with our business. Marie always said that she wanted to be a famous violist, and so I went to Ag Theatre hoping to find someone who may have known her.

I don’t think she gained the fame she had wished, because as I asked around, nobody seemed to know her. And then I asked a theatre curator who believed Marie may have been part of the Peetsurg Orchestra when I asked about a quiet, Vrasnician violist. They directed me to the conductor of the orchestra who was fortunately there at the time.

The man was hesitant to talk at first when I asked about Marie. Said it was best that people contacted the musicians directly if they needed anything. But when I told him that I was her father, he paused for a moment. He then quickly concluded his appointment early with whoever he was seeing, and took me to a quiet room to talk. That’s when he told me the news that she had taken her own life.

We both sat quiet for a long while. At first, I asked the details to be sure that he was in fact talking about our Marie, and that she was truly gone. But he confirmed it all. A slender, Vrasnician violist, long dark hair, green eyes like my own, scar along her left cheek, that very shameful scar that I have given her with my own hand. The conductor, Joset his name was, said that the scar gave a weight to her character that made people aware not to pry too deep into her history. A wound that made her more mysterious, yet beautiful.

She had not attended one of their local performances the last month. Marie usually came with some of the string section of the ensemble, but they said she had not answered her door on the night. Joset went to see her the next day, worried about some problems he was aware of. Her landlord said she had missed the rent that she always paid on the first week of the month, and that she had not collected her mail. Joset was worried and demanded they opened her door. They found Marie in her bath, arms cut, her body already limp and cold.

That’s when we both sat quietly for a time. I didn’t know if I should have been angry as I always was or just shaken with grief. There was an anger within me. At first, I thought it was toward her and why she never told me or you about how much she was truly going through. But something about that felt truly wrong. And I knew what the anger truly was. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, to my stupid, prideful self. But I truly knew what that anger meant. It was anger towards myself. It was anger towards the fact that I made myself somebody that Marie could never turn to whenever she needed someone there. It was anger towards the fact that it was me who drove her away. It was anger towards the fact that I was too stubborn to see that I should have been the support that she needed. And that now it was much too late to make a change. An anger that it was far too late.

After a while, Joset spoke up and told me that Marie had said that she had no family. She said that all her family had passed and that she had nobody left. It hurt so much to hear Joset tell me that. I could see that anyone would believe her if she told them so. She must have truly lived and felt that way. She was always so quiet and never showed much about how she felt. I couldn’t blame Joset if he believed her. And he did. But he told me that when he saw my face and saw my eyes, he knew that I truly was her father. And, he told me that he was sorry.

Deep inside, I knew I had to explain to him why Marie would say that she had no family. Maybe I felt that I just had to explain it to myself. For myself. And so, I told him about our family.

I explained to Joset that when Marie was young, we had to flee our home during the Gustovo Annexation of Waglan. I told him about we lost Friedrich, our eldest son, during the invasion. About how Friedrich was Marie’s closest companion because you and I were always busy with our duties. About how instead of staying and fighting to avenge our son, I chose for us to instead flee to Northern Vrasnic. About how Marie was upset that we never fought for justice in losing Friedrich. About how while growing up, Marie could never build trust with those around her.

I then told Joset about how we worked hard to build our textile company, and that Marie never cared much to help or learn the business. About how Marie always kept to herself and just played the viola. About how Marie could never make her way into any musical performance around Vrasnic because the Vrasnician standards were too high and too crowded. About how I tried to make her learn about our business, but she always refused.

Joset seemed to understand Marie more as I explained all this. She never explained anything about her past, but Joset noted that he could tell that she had gone through a lot. He said that you could hear her depth whenever she would sound her strings, that you could feel tears whenever her viola sung. He must have heard the true and more recent sound of how she played compared to whatever we may have heard before she left. I knew I had to explain the rest to him of what had happened with Marie. And I knew I had to be honest about it too. For my sake. For her sake. For all our sake.

There is an overbearing burden of regret that I can still feel weighing upon me in remembering how I acted towards Marie during that time. I want to justify the way I felt, but it just feels so wrong to think that way. Especially now that it is too late. But I admitted to Joset, I was angry at Marie. Disappointed. Ashamed. I was ashamed of Marie as my daughter. Something I may regret forever.

At the time, my only concern was our business. And it angered me that she didn’t want to takeover it if you and I had finally gone. We didn’t have Friedrich anymore, and so we were left with only her. But she wasn’t going to be any help. In my rage, I felt that she had forced my hand. And so, at the time, it just felt like the right thing to do. I arranged her into a marriage.

Of course she refused. She had already refused so much of what I demanded of her. And I remember that fury that took over me when she told me that she would not accept the marriage. I remember I struck her across the face as hard as I could. I remember that I told her that she was useless, and that she brought shame to our family. I remember I told her that she didn’t care for anything important, and that was why she was still not married. I remember I told her that I was trying to save her by arranging this marriage.

I felt completely false telling all of this to Joset. And I knew that I was, all those years back. Thinking back on that time now, I can only feel guilt and shame. Because I remember that that was when she left.

I wept before this man. Joset watched me as my tears fell. He even wept with me. He may not have understood my regret. But he felt the pain, nonetheless.

Those are the last memories I have of Marie. And they are surely the most horrifying, not only for me, but surely for her too. Can I blame her for telling others that she had no family? I don’t even know if I can truly claim myself as her father if that was the last memory she’ll ever have of me. How can I ever make this right, An? I lost Marie that day, but the truth of the matter that I don’t want to accept is that on that day, I lost her forever.

Joset had to sit there and watch me in my tears. I didn’t mean to put that man through my grief. But he honoured that I needed the space to go through all we had spoken about, about Marie. I could feel that her passing meant something to him as well. Joset was in tears just as much as I was. And again, he told me that he was sorry.

I told Joset that he did not have to apologize to me. I was the horrible father that made Marie’s life so much more difficult. But again, he told me that he was sorry. He must have had something to say, and so I kept quiet to let him speak.

Neither of us spoke for a time, but later Joset broke the silence. He told me that he felt a guilt deep inside about her passing. I didn’t understand, so I let him explain.

Joset and Marie were growing a bond with each other. An emotional bond. They would at times spend times talking after their rehearsals or recitals. Joset knew not to get too involved, especially for professionalism’s sake. But he and Marie could not deny the feelings of their connection.

Joset was already married, and so he knew he could not get involved with Marie. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t be there for her professionally. The orchestra knew she was generally quiet and reserved, and so the made sure to be supportive of her playing. She was said to be a mesmerizing violist whenever she put her heart into her performance. All she needed was some encouragement to help life her confidence.

It seemed that Marie was especially of whenever Joset gave her any praise or encouragement. It would lift her spirits, and she would perform wonderfully. Joset and her section were aware of this. And so, Joset knew to always uplift her whenever she didn’t seem at her best. And he also knew to never get too friendly or casual with her, or any of the orchestra for that fact.

But it seemed that regardless of the situation, Marie’s feelings for Joset only grew.

The night before their last performance, just after their rehearsal, Marie when to talk to Joset. She confessed her deep feelings to him. Joset shared his feelings to her as well, but he had to remind her that he was married. Marie was well aware that Joset was with somebody else, but she still wished for them to share their love, regardless of his other relationship. It was a difficult talk for Joset because he had no intentions to hurt her feelings, but he just couldn’t let himself get involved in such a relationship.

Joset was not quite sure how Marie took his refusal. He told me that she just said it was okay, and that she understood. He apologized to her dearly, he told me and said that he just couldn’t do that to his wife, especially now that she had recently fallen pregnant. He told me that all Marie said was again that it was okay and that she understood. Joset knew that she was hurt. He knew that she rarely ever opened herself emotionally to anyone. He knew that it would mean a big deal to Marie.

And that’s why when she did not appear at the performance, he grew worried. He knew they had to enter her apartment to make sure she was okay. And he knew that when they found her already passed away in the tub, he was partly to blame.

Again, he told me that he was sorry. But I told him to not be a fool about what had happened. There was nothing he could have done. He was already married and soon to be a father. It was all out of his hands.

What he explained about what had happened was just another clear reminder to me that Marie’s passing was truly my fault. She was all alone. And I knew that it was my foolish pride that drove her to keep herself closed and isolated.

We both sat still and quiet for a while. There wasn’t much else either of us could say. I just had all my guilt and remorse quietly suffocating me. And honestly, feeling Joset sitting there grieving made it difficult for me to process everything I had running through my head.

Before I left to return to the hotel, Joset kindly gave me the location of where they had Marie buried. He was nice enough to sort out everything since he believed she had not family. He was a good man.

---

When I was back at the hotel, I didn’t do a thing. I couldn’t. Even though I knew Marie was now gone, it just felt so difficult to accept. A lot of the time I had to remind myself that it was already too late to try and find her. I had to remind myself that Marie had truly passed away. My mind just couldn’t yet properly accept that fact.

Even as I took a bath, I just say there thinking, reminding myself of what I had just discovered about Marie. Reminding myself that she was gone. Coincidently, I was sitting there in a bathtub. It was a sickening reminder of having lost Marie. Just sitting there in the water brought back all the guilt. Of how I struck her. Of how I only cared for myself and what I wanted from her. Of how I never truly took the time to support anything she cared about. Of how I never even took the time to understand how she felt.

I was so angry back then. Sitting in the water, my mind made it more and more clear. I was a failure of a father. I did nothing to protect my daughter. And now, I would never have the chance to ever get her back. How did I believe that back then she would eventually come back? Why did I think that we had all the time in the world, and she would eventually surrender and return home? I had the chance and opportunity to show her love. To be who she needed. To be her father. But instead, I was oppressor, her reason to run away. I was given time to be someone who cared for her. And now I can never get that time back.

I let my head sink below the water. I thought that maybe if Marie had passed away in the water, then maybe I deserved to pass just the same. My punishment for being a failure as a father.

As my head was submerged and my air began to quickly run low, I heard a strangely familiar sound. It wasn’t clear, as my head was submerged and the water muffled all sound. But I swore that I heard it. The vibrato of a viola.

I quickly lifted my head out of the water to listen. But all was quiet. I was so sure I heard the sound of a viola playing. But after a minute of waiting, all remained silent. I felt that maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, that my guilt just wanted to hear Marie play her sound one last time. I didn’t care of it was a delusion or not. I wanted to hear it again. I thought maybe if I submerged my head underwater again, then maybe my mind would play the lovely sounds again.

But just before I lowered my head, I heard the soothing sound of strings again. Someone in another room was playing. Each chord sung a sorrowful melody. I felt the emotions and brilliance of whoever was playing. I felt my heart cry as the music of strings sang dearly. I knew it was a viola. It played the high tones of speech, but also the low tones of grief. Is that why Marie played the instrument?

The water in the tub had already gone cold, but still I sat and took in every stroke of melodic vibrations played. It was the closest thing I would ever get to hearing Marie’s voice ever again. And I wanted to hear all she had to say.

The song was sad and slow. It almost felt like the song was played just for me. I needed to hear it. I needed to feel the pain spoken by strings. I needed to hear my daughter one last time.

After breakfast this morning, I went to ask the hotel staff about the music last night. I was able to talk to the hotel manager. But when I asked him if there was a viola player staying at the hotel, he gave me a curious look. The manager asked me why I wanted to know. When I told him that I heard a viola playing last night, his face grew concerned. He then told me that there was a violist staying at the hotel. And he also mentioned that she had gone missing just last week.

When I asked the manager what he meant by missing, he told me that she was due for a performance the other night, but she never arrived at the show. Then their orchestra had grown concerned because the viola player had confessed her love to their conductor, but her feelings were rejected.

The story was too familiar and too similar to Marie’s. So, I asked if the violist was playing for the Peetsurg Orchestra. The manager then said no, and that their guest was part of the Naldonian Symphony Orchestra that was touring in town. He wasn’t talking about Marie, but strangely the story was too similar. A violist, in love with the conductor, only to be rejected.

I told the manager that the violist must have been in another room because I heard her playing last night. But the manager’s eyes grew dark, and he told me that that was impossible. He said that she was truly missing because when they checked her room, all of her belongings were gone.

When I suggested that she must have just been in another room, the manager shook his head. He said that she stayed in the very same room that I was staying in before I arrived. But I heard the viola playing last night. So, again, I suggested she was likely in another room, but again he just shook his head. He told me firmly that she and I were the only guests to have stayed on that floor for the past few months. No one other rooms had been opened on that floor all year. When I asked if he was sure, he just nodded and said it was the nicest room on the floor and the only one with a bathtub. He was well aware of which rooms he checked in for guests.

This was all so confusing. When I mentioned again that I heard a viola playing while I was bathing in the tub, the manager strangely wrote down a note of that. Was there an investigation? I’m sure she was in another room. But who knows?

I’m going to go visit Marie at where they buried her. Maybe I’ll get in contact with Joset again and see if I can get access to Maria’s apartment. Maybe I’ll get her viola to take back home.

Like I said, I will call you once I’m back. So, you would already have heard all the news by the time you get this letter.

I still haven’t been able to process that Marie is gone. And I don’t know if going to her grave is going to help. I don’t know how I’m feeling right now, An. I guess the main feeling is guilt. I know that this is all my fault that we truly lost Marie. And I’m going to have to face that fact from now on. Both our children. Gone.

I don’t know if I could ever call myself a father.

I’m sorry, An. I truly am. I don’t know what to do. But I am just so sorry for everything.

We’ll talk again when I’m back. Keep yourself safe, my dear. For our children’s sake.

Sincerely yours,

Oscar