October 29th, 1985

Dear Anna,

As if you haven't figured it out already, I don't foresee myself returning to East Heights anytime in the near future. Although this may come as a shock to you (depending first on the arrival date of this letter and furthermore your sense of hope and compassion as far as judging my character is concerned) I have officially decided (following much thought and deeply rooted meditation) that you and I can no longer see each other.
Now, I'm sure at this point certain questions are arising in the back of your head, unnaturally even depending on the strain of life since my unannounced departure, but I would first like to clear the air. I cannot necessarily divulge my reasons for leaving at this point, nor can I give you an address or any legitimate news of my condition. Let's just say it's fluctuating between sensibly aware of my environment and invariably lost in a haze of sinful passion to which I can reluctantly say reminds me of our younger days, before scheduled longevity and notes about seven o'clock dinners filtered into the stratosphere.
Then there is of course the subject of our marriage, which could no longer necessarily endure this new era of modern numbness. I will find the proper papers, letters of resignation and change of situation forms, hopefully sending them to you, with my John Hancock when the time is right. Hopefully then it will just be a matter of governmental promptness which I'm sure you as well as myself personally, are not looking forward to.
Nevertheless patience is an obscene virtue that we must learn to follow, in order to fully understand the general pull of gravity and parades.
Then there is of course the matter of Henry. I'm not sure how the young lad is doing in my absence, nor do I necessarily want to hear about such information. Progress in my opinion, has always been a slightly fickle prospect, and therefore I must refrain from the onset of news on my son's well-being whether its good or unsettling.
The shear connotations that come with being a father have always frightened me and therefore I couldn't help but resign from such an act of lopsided responsibility. I hope the enclosed check as well as the deed to my mother's house, which I have no interest in sleeping in again, will help you come to terms, not only with this permanent separation, but also the next (fingers crossed) potentially seamless transition in you and Henry's life.
And so until we reluctantly meet again on the outskirts of a sensational event. I remain your former lover, husband, and source of abandonment.
Raymond Vaughn