SSC '04 [Adult] "Precious Roseline" by Rhosymedre.
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Precious Roseline,

Remember that gold-plated bookmark you gave me inscribed,
"Novels arise out of the shortcomings of history"? Well,
letters like this one arise out of the shortcomings of
face-to-face discussion. As you know too well -- because
I've remained silent or said the wrong thing or brashly
acted instead of speaking -- God didn't grant me the gift
of a silver tongue. I won't claim to possess a silver pen
either, but the luxury of drafting my thoughts in
solitary leisure multiplies my chances of baring to you
the full measure of my overflowing mind and heart.

After putting you to bed, I sat in the dark listening to
your deep and even breathing... occasionally stuttered by
wispy chuffs as you shifted the hurt. And perhaps you
unconsciously sought my bulky warmth... absented from its
habitual tuck alongside you.

I couldn't bear to lie with you, inamorata.

Not because of you.

Because of me. I betrayed you! I dishonored myself.. and
our life together.

Remember my wedding vow to you: "...To cherish you and be 
your refuge." I promised never to exert my superior
strength to force compliance from you. We were to be
equal partners who would settle differences and arguments
like rational adults.

Tonight I contemptuously and knee-jerkingly shattered
that solemn pledge.... I feel the shame Peter must have
felt after denying Jesus three times before the cock
crew.

Oh God, I wish I could exculpate myself with a jaunty
justification that you played the inciting brat once too
often. And that both of us downed too much Merlot,
sealing the fateful scene. Or that a firm hand with you
is my husbandly duty, so I was wrong, three years ago, to
vow something against our best interests.

I cannot. Those are a coward's excuses. My promise has
always been my bond. I've lived my life by that. Until
now.

Sweet Roseline, your mother blessed you with a beautiful
name that conjures a calm, delicate soul. You *are* a
soul of peerless beauty. But the adjectives
"hot-blooded," "headstrong," "emotive" and "excitable"
describe you better, don't they? And you exhibited that
high-spirited self from our first meeting. My more
reserved temperament harbored no illusions about the
challenges our polar personalities cohabited under and
always assured that your feisty but tiny body wasn't
bullied at my burly hands. Until today.

Inamorata, I don't deserve your forgiveness. Amazingly
though, I know you've already bestowed it. Your eyes
shone with it when I swiped away your tears and laid you
gingerly on the bed, holding the purpling hairbrush
bruises off the bedclothes. You flailed and cursed
frantically during my blistering of your backside, but
you refuse to hold grudges after the heat of the moment
has passed.

Pity is, I'm not the sparing soul you are. I'll be gone
when you read this. I'll deed the house to you. We'll
divorce or not as you decide. But you won't see me again.

You must be safe.

With undying love and regret,
Joseph

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Notes: 

The quote about novels and history attributes to
Novalis, a.k.a. Friedrich von Hardenberg, a German writer.

Another "thank you" to all who have commented on the
stories I've submitted so far. I've read all your
thoughtful comments with great appreciation.