Always

Author: For Jelsa Week 2020, Day 3: Tragedy. MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS. Rating this M for the subjects this delves into (mental illness, suicide, trauma), just to be safe. These are topics that are very personal and important to me. I'm so sorry it's rushed towards the end. Ran out of time to flesh things out as much as I'd like. Happy Jelsa Week, snowflakes.

Sør-Trøndelag, Norway (New Years, 1862)

5:30 AM

My sweet Elsa,

I feel my mind going. I feel myself losing my grip on reality again and I cannot make you go through another one of these awful times. Neither you nor our dear, sweet Agnes. I can't find any other way to escape it. I don't think there will be better times if I let myself go on like this. I can't go on the way my father did, spending his last years in utter torment.

My nightmares keep getting worse. I wake up in a cold sweat and I can't breathe. The pictures haunt me all day until I fall back asleep. Then it starts all over again.

You have given me everything since we exchanged our vows. The greatest happiness, the purest love, the highest joy. You are not to blame for my failures as a husband and father. I don't wish to hurt you. I know that with me gone, you'll flourish. Agnes too. You have been so patient, so compassionate, the most perfect wife, mother, and human being.

All I ask is that you don't give Agnes her letter until she's much older. Please. I'm having trouble just writing this. Tell her how much Daddy loves her, how much he'll miss her, and give her hugs and kisses from me every day and night. She is our greatest creation... Tell her how proud of her Daddy is.

I wouldn't have made it this far without you. You've kept me alive. You made me whole. My Snow Queen.

Always, always with my love,

Jackson

It was not even dawn when Jackson stood up from his desk in the study, folded up the letter, and sealed it inside an envelope. He labeled it Elsa and set it next to the one labeled Agnes.

He went outside into the heavy snow, carrying with him only a lantern. Jackson was thirty-eight years old, pale and thin, and wore an overcoat that was much too big on him as he plowed away from his home in the countryside. He moved with purpose, his destination clear in his head. That was the only clear thought he had left.

Jackson reached the embankment of the pond. It was frozen. He had just taken his daughter and wife ice-skating on it days ago. The ice in the center was smooth and thin, and so he always warned them to stay close to the shore. He had spent years ignoring the voices, but finally, it was time to obey them.

He placed one foot on the ice, then the other. He stiffly moved forward and he heard a crackling beneath him as the ice began to splinter. He wasn't quite far out enough yet, but he knew he was close. He could turn back if he wanted... And part of him did.

But Jack knew that he couldn't. He shouldn't.

This is what is best.

Jack turned back towards where his home was... He didn't want them to see him. He wanted their last memory to be of him happy, of kissing them good night.

The ice spiderwebbed outward even more as he pressed his foot down a little heavier with his next step.

Jack startled when he heard fluttering over his head. He saw a flock of birds racing across the sky... The moon looked so beautiful. As he let this image carve itself into his brain, Jack took another step, putting all of his weight into it.