I am watching you... You cannot see me, but I can see you through this colourful nothing of a silk curtain. I am watching you while I am crouching on the floor, writing this letter – my last one. I have always watched you when you were down there, talking to your friends and business associates. Women see more than men can know, and I have learned more about you by watching silently than by talking to you. Men do not know how to talk to women. You either treat us as children or as another species – and we are neither. We are like you, only different.

And now I am watching you, as you gently stir the poison into my cup. I have to smile, although it is a sad smile. I always knew you would do the honourable thing, and I should have known you would find a way that would not hurt me, humiliating me even more. Do you not think I can face my destiny with as brave a heart as you? I know I have to die. I knew it from the moment I kissed him for the first time – no, that is not true. I knew I was dead when I first set my eyes upon him, through this same curtain, so strong was the impression he made on me.

I knew you would find out. How could I hide a passion this strong? And how could I expect him to hide it? You men are used to a different kind of cunning. You know nothing about the wiles and arts of love when there is no money involved. That is your tragedy. Your weakness. And yet, it is so endearing. To see a grown man blush like a boy when a veiled woman passes him by, only because he imagines she is his mistress... To see him shift nervously in his seat when he was talking to you about business, and all he could think about was the time with me when there would be no talking, no business, only two bodies in the world’s oldest pastime... To hear his awkward steps when he tried to walk noiselessly through the women’s quarters on his quest to betray his best friend... Oh, how I loved his innocence, his boyishness... and yet he was a man, oh yes, he was all the man I could wish for.

I could not resist so strong a passion, even had I wanted to. Nothing could keep me away from him, not fear, not the knowledge of what awaited us when you found out, not even my love for you and my respect for your pride. I am sorry that I hurt you. I am sorry that I put your honour on stake, the most valuable possession a man has. I am sorry. But I would not choose differently if I was able to choose again.

I do not expect you to understand. I know you cannot, and I know you are not allowed to. But know this, my beloved husband: I am human. I am of the same race as you. I feel the same passions, and I have my own pride. I cannot do what I choose, for I am a woman. I married you to obey my father. I have been a good wife to obey custom. I have born your children to obey you. But there are choices left to us, and these we will make, and cling to them until the very end. I love you because I chose to. I betrayed you because I chose to. I will die to obey you, but I forced you to kill me because I chose to. I chose passion, and with it death. And do you know? It was worth it.

You look up. Only now do I notice that you still have a splash of blood on your cheek. His blood... You changed your clothes after you killed him, you washed your hands and your feet before you entered the house, but there is one little droplet in your face that you forgot... it is the last I will see of my lover. I cannot stifle a sigh, but I do not think you have heard me. Your hands are shaking. Where is your pride, your strength? I know you have loved me, in your own, slow, reliable way. I love you, too. I do not know if you understand, but there is room enough for both of you in my heart.

But I know, you must do what you are about to do. I have sinned against you and, what is worse, against the rules of society. I have soiled your pride, your honour. You must wash away the stain with blood. Do what you have to do.

Are you going to say you forgive me? Please don’t. I do not regret. There is nothing to forgive.

I am ready, my husband. I know what is in this drink, and from your hands, I will take it. Take you this letter, and read it, or burn it, whatever pleases you. Only know that I still love you. Not because I must. Because I chose to.