Broken Half √

Chapter Six

Dear Fred,

I don't know where to begin. There's so much I want to say to you, and not enough words in the world to let me day how much I miss you. How much I love you. How much I need you. I'll tell you, Fred, it's awful hard living without you. My every breath, every waking and sleeping hour, it pains me to be without you by my side. It should have been me, and you know it, too. But I won't waste this letter talking about that. But I want you to know that every time someone cracks a joke, Mum bursts into tears. Every time someone mentions Quidditch, Ginny runs to her room. But I'm the worst of all.

Fred, I can't live without you. I can't go on like this. I've lost hope, I gave up a long time ago. What's the point of pretending to be whole when I'm really only one half of a person? Fred, I need you. Now more than ever.

In case you don't know, I'm married to Angelina Johnson. We have two children, who are also twins, named Fred and Roxanne. I'm telling you, Fred reminds me so much of you. Every time he smiles, I feel sad inside. I don't want that to keep happening to me.

I can't even begin to say how much I miss you, how much I love you. There's an empty space beside me, inside of me. You belong there, not wherever you are now. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when it happened. I miss doing everything with you, and I'll try to get through it. Somehow.

With more love than you could possibly imagine,
George

I fold the letter, blinking back the tears I know will fall soon. I know I said a lot, but it still doesn't really feel like enough. There's so much I want to say to him, I just can't find the right words.

I leave the note on the bedside table, right next to the photograph of my brother's smiling face.

***

Later, Angelina is in bed, sleeping beside me. I unfold the letter and read over it again, making sire it's good enough. Then, before I can begin to cry, I fold it back up, set it down, and fall asleep.

***

I open my eyes when light fills the room. Angelina is still asleep next to me. When I turn around, though, the letter is gone.

I frantically get out of bed and crouch on the floor. It's not there. I make my way to the desk, and when I open the drawer where the parchment was, I see a folded letter. But when I open it up, it's not in my messy handwriting, but in looping, scrawling script.

I begin to read.