My dear,
    I have read that a person reads with a greater awareness when they are in love with the writer.  Their understanding of nuances and potential meanings is more acute; they read between the lines, so to speak.  If that is so then it is safe to say that I love you, for I find myself reading every word you write to me again and again to find any meaning that I might have missed.  I want to know so much more than is revealed by the face value of your words.
    In your letters of late I have noticed something that causes me some disturbance.  Our correspondence has been going on for some years now and your letters have always been warm and always personal, until this past month.  What is it that troubles you?  Have I said something wrong?  I like to assume that a person also writes more particularly when they are writing to their beloved, but it’s possible that I have failed to do so.  I fear that, while my observance leads me to be all the more convinced of my love for you, what I have actually observed is a slackening in your fondness for me.
    I remember when we had been writing five months and you wrote “Life is dull these past weeks; it seems I have little to look forward to but your letters.  Have you finished that book you were reading?  Did the girl fall in love with the right man?  And how have you spent your days?  You wrote of visiting a friend – tell me about the visit.  No details are too mundane, my darling.  I will happily read anything you wish to write.”  Now I feel that I am the girl who may have fallen in love with the wrong man.  Your latest letter read “What a long letter you wrote this time!  It sounds like you’ve been up to some interesting things.  I’ve been doing a lot myself, with my friend Anna…”
    You’ve written of Anna a lot, and always restating the words ‘my friend’.  My dear, my love, I know that you’re nervous writing these letters.  You needn’t be.  You know I would forgive you anything, I just need to know first what I’m forgiving.  I’ve tried not to be jealous and not to suspect anything without due cause, but the cause has become due.  It could all be my imagination but I know I am reading more clearly than I ever have before and I don’t see how the things I have noticed could be false.
    Please know I love you and don’t take this letter amiss.  If you love me too you will read it astutely and understand it as it is meant.  I only want to know what is happening; even if you no longer care for the details of my life, I long for the details of yours.  At least this once.  I will end this letter as I always do, even if this might be the last time I have a right to do so.  I will mean it forever.
    Loving you and thinking of you always, Sincerely,
                                                                      Maddy