August 15th 1941

Dearest James,

I'm in a car outside of our house, suddenly I'm overcome with nerves and I can't imagine how anything can ever be the same again. But it's you. I know that we'll always work things out, even if now you're missing a hand and I've driven myself insane with stress. 

I getting out of the car now James. I'm never writing to you again, because I'll always be right at your side.

-Beth 

I folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. It was the last one, the last letter. Suddenly their story faded and it was just me, sitting on the floor surrounded by old letters.