I want to publicly repent for something I said last night to my dear wife, Kathleen, about her son, my stepson. It was cruel, cruel, cruel and I can't take it back. I could blame the brandy but I won't. I'm just a bastard and sometimes my remarks can be more cutting than a chain saw.
You always hurt the one you love, especially cooped up in Mexico for months with no respite. I have never spent as much extended time with any one person as I have with Kathleen; I think she is the only one who could put up with me. She's certainly the only one I could live with in close quarters every day and still smile at her face in the morning and be grateful for her sweet company. After six years I'm still desperately in love with her.
Propinquity can sometimes be a curse, however, and we don't take enough breaks from each other, ending up in a rut wondering what to do each day. But this is no excuse for the cruelty of Craig. I was trained by a master, my father, and I can't seem to entirely escape his training, especially when my judgment is impaired by demon rum, just as his often was. Now my poor darling's eyes are swollen and she wants nothing to do with me, for which I don't blame her.
I was evil, I was cruel, I was careless, I repent. I trust she will forgive me but I doubt that will be soon. Each wound we inflict on each other runs the risk of diminishing the love and trust we bear a little more, something I dread more than death. Her love is the greatest gift I have received in this life and I spit in its face last night. I don't deserve Kathleen.
"Pray for us sinners at the hour of our death."
In grief and repentance,