Chapter Eighty-Five.

Dear Isabella,

My Bella. If you’re reading this then you’ve probably come back to our Riverdale Home and in a fit of rage have destroyed the vase in which this letter was hidden or whatever. My guess is that whenever you’re reading this, i’m no more.

Or maybe i sent you to get it but that’s a totally different scenario.

However, whenever it is be it two years from now, or five years from this moment that i’m sitting right next to this blazing fireplace, trying to find the right words to pen my thoughts—trying to find the right way to the say goodbye. Whenever it is, i hope that it’s not too late, i hope it’s time.

Time for you to know the truth.

At least it’s close.

You were always like Emily, your mother and there was barely any difference between the both of you. It’s such a shame things happened the way it did. But i’m glad i got to raise you for the most of your life as well. Please understand it’s much harder for me to write this.

For the past few weeks, i’ve stared below at a