[eclecticmuses] Write a letter to someone you hurt...
Stephens wasn't good with words. He was a simple guy, a cop who wrote witness reports and typed up DD-5s. He didn't write letters. When it came to cards for his wife, he let Hallmark do the talking and signed his name at the bottom.
This time-this time was different. Well, it should have been. He'd scribbled and crossed out words, crumpled up sheets and sheets of paper from the yellow legal pad that rested on his desk. It was late - beyond late. His partner and everyone else on his shift had gone home hours ago. The only place he could think was by the dim light of his desk lamp.
He rubbed his eyes and stared down at the fresh piece of paper in front of him. So far all he'd gotten out were two words: "Mary Jane".
I know I haven't been there for you…
He thought the words, not for the first time that night, but didn't write them out this time. It still wasn't right.
I'll do better. Let me show you -
How? How would he show her? He didn't know. And he didn't have any answers.
Finally, he wrote, only one word, and then folded the paper, sticking it into an envelope.
When he got home, just as dawn was breaking, he set his keys in the bowl on the table by the front door and headed upstairs. Briefly, he looked in on his son, and then went to the master bedroom. He placed the envelope on her nightstand, her name carefully written on the outside of it.
Stephens undressed, yawning as he did so, and climbed into bed. He fell asleep thanks only to sheer exhaustion.
When Mary Jane woke up a couple of hours later, she glanced over at her husband's sleeping form. She hadn't seen him in what must have been a couple of days. It wasn't another woman or an alcohol or drug problem. It was the job. Always, always the job. She was at the point where her anger was becoming minimal. Now, she was mostly just tired of it all.
Sighing, she pulled back the covers and sat up in bed. It was then that she noticed the envelope on the nightstand, addressed to her in Jeff's hand.
After opening it and reading it, Mary Jane looked over at him again. He was snoring lightly and even while resting, he looked exhausted. Despite everything, she couldn't deny that he was a good, hard worker, one of Gotham's finest.
That would make it even harder, she realized, to tell him that she couldn't do what he asked in his note.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, watching him as she got out of bed. Quickly, Mary Jane headed to the shower, toward figuring out how she would tell him.
The note, left on the bed, as if she wanted to forget she'd seen it, simply read:
Mary Jane,
Please?