Dear Jason,

I sometimes question myself on why I waste time out of my day thinking about you, or even writing to you. This is the twenty-fourth letter that I have written in the past twelve hours, and you know what? I still know what to say. I know these letters will never get to you. I’m a hoarder, as you know. The only place these could ever possibly end up is in a box inside my closet, or some other weird, shitty place like that. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that I can finally take all this pent-up anger and rage out on you in these letters.

Let’s start with the day I discovered your side chick. She was blonde, had a skinny body, fit the model description. Whereas, I am a brunette with a button nose and curves all year round. I could easily see why you didn’t want me but her instead. She seemed like a nice girl, that was, until she asked if I was the sister you were always talking about. She went on and on about how she was so grateful to finally have a sister. Then I broke the truth to her. I was your fiancée, the girl you were to marry in a year. At the time, I was still pregnant with our now two-month-old son. But you didn’t care, right? The only thing you cared about was having a beautiful girl by your side, one that every man would want and envy you of.

She looked like she wanted to cry. The smile on her face vanished entirely, and within moments, she was leaving our house. You pulled up to the house half an hour later, but by then, I already had my bags packed and the ring on Amazon. Oh, you thought I burned that thing in the fire along with all of your clothes and video games, didn’t you? Poor you. Poor Jason, for losing hundreds of dollars’ worth of items in just one day. But you were wrong. I sold it for twice the amount you bought it for, and with that money, I bought my son the supplies he would need.

I moved back into my mom’s house. She was devastated to hear about what you had done, and I had to convince her not to drive to the house and shoot you for what you’d done. After that, I cried for days. I was thinking about how you were just a two-faced asshole; you didn’t care for anyone but yourself. You didn’t care who got hurt, as long as it wasn’t you. Then again, who’d want to get hurt? No one does! Apparently, you didn’t understand that part of the relationship. Partners are not supposed to cheat on each other. And you broke that rule. The most important one! Don’t worry, I won’t tell our son. In fact, Jeremiah is laying down in his bassinet behind me, sleeping as sound as a bug in a rug.

I won’t tell him a lot of things, Jason. I may be crazy for doing this too, but he doesn’t deserve to grow up knowing who or what you were. You were the true crazy person in our relationship, and you know it. I always went to easy on you! I gave you whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Yet, it still wasn’t enough, was it? The day I went to pick up the rest of my things, you’d been out. I don’t know what you were doing, but I can only assume it had something to do with you finding a new girl to tug around and lie to.


It was then that the idea had popped into my mind. I would set the house ablaze, but I wouldn’t make it obvious that it had been me. I would make it look like the living room rug had accidentally slid too close to the fire place, which you forgot to put out before you left. It was the perfect cover story! I was just picking up my belongings, didn’t notice how close the rug had gotten to the fire, and went about my business packing up shop. It was so easy to fool those police officers after you’d come to my mom’s house with them in tow.

You were furious, shouting that I did it. You knew the truth, Jason, but no one was buying it. I was just the poor, pregnant, cheated on ex-fiancée. They all pitied me and the burden I had to carry. In fact, I remember every small detail of that day. I remember how they had to force you out the door because you wanted to snoop around for the evidence of a premeditated house fire. You would never get to, and neither would anyone else. I burned it after my mom went to bed, leaving me to freely prance about the house and whatever I pleased.

It was then that I began planning your murder. Oh, the glorious murder of Jason Ackerson! How astonished people were when they found your corpse floating in Lake Eerie. You’d already been dead for a good month and a half, washing away any evidence that I had even had any involvement. The funny thing is that they gave up! The police don’t care about you anymore, Jason. They couldn’t find any leads, save for one interview with me which failed miserably in their hands. They couldn’t find any evidence that it had been a murder at all!

Remember how I had choked you out in your sleep? You were struggling to breathe, just like me when I met your secret girlfriend. By the way, she showed up to your funeral with a single rose. She must have really loved you. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have shown up at all! It took me three hours to get you into my truck, dump you into Lake Eerie, and drive back home to clean any evidence away. It was a good thing that your murder hadn’t been bloody. If it had been, I’m afraid I would have been caught.

My dear, dead Jason. If only you hadn’t chosen to cheat. We would still be happy! Our son would grow up with two parents who were completely normal, and he would live a happy life. We would be going at it every day, as if nothing had changed in our relationship. But no. You put this on me. You screwed everything up! You were the one who wanted change, and I gave it to you. The best part is that I have no regret.

So, my story will continue, and yours will not. Our son will grow up believing that his father had drowned in the lake. He will believe that you couldn’t swim, which will make him want to, of course. He will know that I loved you very much, that I had nothing to do with your death. He will believe that I am his strong mother, who chose to raise him without your help. He will believe all of it, because you aren’t here to tell him otherwise.

I guess we all do get happy endings, don’t we? If you could hear me laughing right now, I’m sure you would agree! Of course, you won’t be able to. Remember, you’re dead! Ha!

                                                                                                               With all of my love

                                                                                                               Hannah Morsen


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Belle Ellrich

Belle is a promising writer and part time model. She runs a bookstagram page where she posts pictures of books to support authors.
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Belle Ellrich

Belle is a promising writer and part time model. She runs a bookstagram page where she posts pictures of books to support authors.