Work Text:
September 1, 1939
It has taken me years to even slightly recover from the shame and humiliation of my final days at my beloved Manderley.
I can not face my community - knowing that rumors continue to abound about of my sham marriage to Rebecca, her London lovenest, and worse - the speculation that she did not commit suicide but was possibly murdered … and murdered by me!
I am also aware that there are speculations that I married my second wife as an escape from my past. It was obvious to all that she was too young, too inexperienced, and most incapable of running any and all household matters. This, in fact, was also all too true.
It is not a new found courage - but the war - that will bring me back to England. My wife and I are no longer safe in Italy, France, and Spain. The idea of escaping to America is repugnant to me. I am forced back to England, to Cornwall, where I will live with my sister and her husband until I can make a better plan.
I am very fond of my wife but I do not love her. I need her. I am very aware of my hypocrisy. I spurned Rebecca, five days after our marriage, when she told me the truth of her life. Yet my current wife did not spurn me when I told her the truth of my life five months after our marriage. She loves me even though I am unable to return her deep affection.