Don't talk to me about being free.
How can you miss someone you've never met? Why does it matter that you'll never learn their name, never see their face, and never hear their voice? How can it matter now, when it's never mattered before?
How can you expect anyone to understand how you feel, when you don't understand it yourself?
Anamaria stared out at the water and bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, but she refused to allow the tears to fall.
It wasn't right. She'd wondered now and then, but she never considered the possibility of ever actually getting definite information.
Two years ago, drunk on rum, she remembered mentioning it once to Elizabeth in passing. They'd been talking about something stupid. Elizabeth mentioned some silly episode involving Governor Swann.
"Be glad you have a father. Mine doesn't even know I exist."
And so, Elizabeth asked for more details. There wasn't much Anamaria could tell her, other than that her father had been a sailor on the ship Endurance when it had been docked at Harrow's Bay. End of story, and no big deal.
And now, this letter.
It is with sadness that I relate to you the details of an enquiry I made to fate of the Endurance. Documents have recorded a ship by that name was lost at sea only weeks after it's docking at Harrow's bay. All hands were lost with the ship. I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that we will see each other soon.
Your friend, Elizabeth
Anamaria held the letter tightly in her fist. Why would Elizabeth even think she wanted to know the fate of a man to whom she held no ties?
She would not cry for the ghost of a dream. This set her free from wondering, set her free from scanning faces in a crowd and looking to see if any of them looked like herself.
She would go on with life as though the letter never existed, for it changed nothing. A man she never knew was dead.
It changed nothing, other than the fact the now nothing could ever change. That little thread of hope that she carried with her was now broken.
She let go of the letter and watched it fly in the breeze before landing in the water below.
Authors note: Dedicated to the memory of a man I never met, and now never will.
I may not want to, but I do care.