Wanda,
My loving wife. It is like a horrible nightmare. Every day and every night I still see our daughter’s face. You do remember, don’t you my dear? It seems like just yesterday that we were watching our little Becky play on the swingset. I still remember glancing over at you, watching you smile and laugh as Becky climbed down the swingset to pick up her favorite stuffed polar bear. Our sweet, little girl. It would break your heart to see her last Tuesday. Screaming and crying as I dragged her toward the front door of Blackmore to trade her for a single generator. A single generator. No parent should ever have to receive so little in trade.
I never thought this day would come. I still remember the day you told me you were pregnant. I remember your face as we talked about Becky’s future, our future. We walked through her life together. Her first birthday. Her first words. Her first day at school. Her first kiss. The crates of DNA extractors and crowbars we would get after shipping her off to New Arkham on her tenth birthday. But those dreams are gone now, my love. Instead, I am left here with nothing to remember her, except this generator. One lousy generator that will be probably be destroyed within the hour. These truly are dark times we live in.
No father should have to go through what I just went through, Wanda. The pain. The complete humiliation of settling for less than ten shotguns and two generators for their eleven-year old. I still remember the other 303er’s laughing at me when I returned to Blackmore, receiving so little for someone, who, at one time, held so much promise.
I should have done more when we were raising her. I should have seen this coming. Why did I not see the warning signs? If I was a better father, I would have crated her and left her in Wyke Hills until the market got better. God knows my father would have done the same for me. But now she is gone, Wanda, destined to spend the rest of her life in shackles in a Ridleybank Harmanz Processing camp. It was her time to go I guess. She knew it, I knew it, and the zombies knew it. I just wished we got have gotten more for her.
Wanda, you shouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes. I know we haven’t talked much since I left your mother to die at Nichols. I am sorry baby, I really am. You and I both know that traveling with less than 40 FAKs is tantamount to suicide. We couldn’t spare even one. I really am I sorry. I was hoping to get a flak jacket for that old hag.
But you have to forgive me and we need to move on. I need you Wanda. I need you to help me get through the pain and the suffering. Please, come back to me baby. If not for me, then do it in loving memory of our daughter. And, Wanda, when you come, be sure to bring our son Jake, and his friends Ernie and Jackie. I am still hoping to get that tenth fire axe.
Love Always,
Bob
