Philomena was finding it hard to understand the series of events that had changed her life altogether, and brought her to a place where she was attempting to write a letter to a virtual stranger.
Put bluntly, her father had capped a life of indiscretions by shooting himself. Which left Philomena homeless and penniless.
With an effort she schooled her mind, telling herself that salvation had arrived in the nick of time, and that her saviour was even now in London seeing what else he could salvage for her.
She bent her head and began to write.
‘My dearest husband…’