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My darling Samantha,


I know how long it has been since last we spoke. I know how much you regret all the things that I said that night in the city, and despite my greatest efforts to drown out your voice with drink, I know with what frequency you informed me to never contact you again.


However, as this may be the final letter between us, I find it necessary to inform you that at our most recent meeting, although you blamed the children for the disappearance of little Winston you were, of course, as wrong as you always are.


Yours truly,


Henry Adam Wood


P.S. I wouldn't try planting much under the old Oak. The soil there is much too hard.