Free Still With Me by Thierry Cohen Page A

talked to you, but you remained indifferent, absent. Then your father got angry. They were living a nightmare. They didn’t understand what was going on. Your mother spent her days crying.
The rest I know. You cut off all contact. Your father gradually sank into depression. He decided he’d lost his son that day and that he had to grieve. He forbade your mother from speaking your name.
That’s why your mother wanted to see me. She thought that I was responsible for the change. I didn’t tell her your version. How could they understand? I don’t even understand. Why the lies, Jeremy? What do you have against your parents? I’m discovering this pernicious nature in you that sometimes comes to the surface and makes you unkind. It’s just mean to treat your parents that way.
As usual, you absolutely didn’t want to talk about it. But can we continue to live this lie together, hiding this part of you and pretending everything’s all right? I know I can’t do that.
I hope tonight, when I come home, we’ll talk about it. I leave that up to you.
—Victoria, who loves you anyway
     
    Jeremy felt sick after reading the letter. His eyes filled with tears. How was this possible? Was he really such a jerk? Why was it that during these reawakenings, when his amnesia obliterated parts of his past, he felt like a reasonable man, a good son, and a loving husband? What a paradox. He felt normal when nothing could be further from the truth.
    One letter remained on the desk. He picked it up with trembling fingers. What else would he learn? How much more could he take?
    The letter wasn’t dated. The handwriting was more frantic. Certain words were scratched out, nervously.
Jeremy,
I know you don’t like it when I write. But I don’t have any other way to express my feelings. I’m going to pieces, Jeremy.
Because the man I love doesn’t love me anymore. He doesn’t love his life, his family, his home. You’re not happy with me anymore. You keep up the facade, only to avoid hurting me or causing a scene. You dodge reality as soon as it’s not smiling on you anymore. At home, you go out like a light. You seem absorbed in other thoughts. What are they? I’m convinced your sons and I aren’t among them.
Thomas won’t speak to you anymore. He’s given up on your affection. You’re never present, always traveling, or when you are at home, you’re exhausted, unavailable. Do you realize that Thomas is having serious problems at school? He won’t do his work. But he’s so smart. The therapist said it was his way of punishing us. You for your absence and me for my failure to keep you at home. Do you at least know he sees a therapist every week?
And Simon—do you know what’s been going on with him lately? Does that interest you? It’s not work that’s stripped away your love. You use it to hide from us. We’re not enough for you anymore. It’s like our family life doesn’t give you the pleasure that you’re searching for endlessly. Or maybe you met another woman. Maybe you found in her what we once had. The problem isn’t knowing that you’re having an affair, it’s understanding how you got there. At first I thought I was responsible for the erosion of our love. Then I refused to feel guilty. The only abnormal element is you. Your invented childhood, your lies, your uncontrollable fears, your convenient amnesia. The problem comes from what you don’t want to see. I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me into this other world you’ve created to escape yourself.
Despite all that, I believe we can still save our marriage.
—Victoria
    Jeremy scanned the letter again and again, searching between the words and lines for a reason to hope. Pain clenched his chest. Victoria, his reason for living, his reason for dying, was threatening to leave him.
    Suddenly, he heard a thud and then a scream from the kitchen. He didn’t react immediately, but Thomas came into the office, panicked. “What are you waiting for?