Everything is a reminder of him. There are pieces of him around every corner. Every minute is torture. Every breath breeds pain. I cannot stand the false sympathy offered by the other women who offer condolences to my face and then damn me to my back.
I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go to him... to follow him to the next life... but what will become of Father and Enishi without me?
April 1864
I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go to him... to follow him to the next life... but what will become of Father and Enishi without me?
I am a wretched woman for even thinking of it.