Dear Mrs. Van den Heuvel,

You of course watched yesterday. To Jinek. Because there your husband John told his story. He was probably sitting next to you now, because the broadcast was recorded earlier. Due to – and this word you would love to throw out of your vocabulary, I know for sure – security.

Every step that is taken, every appointment that is made, a walk through the neighborhood, getting an ice cream around the corner, nothing is spontaneous in your life. Yes, that kiss on your cheek, toasting with a nice glass, everything that happens behind closed doors can happen without consultation, but beyond that… Everything is set in stone.

I looked at your husband. At John. I know him too. For twenty years. Where I always see a shiny gleam (in his eyes, on his forehead), I now saw something dull. His eyes seemed smaller than usual. A result of pondering and worrying. Wondering if it’s all worth it. And then above this ‘ink-black summer’ the gnawing sadness about his quarrel with Peter R. de Vries. The last moment together was a moment when they looked away as they passed each other. Normally, a beer months later would have done the trick. They would have shaken hands, maybe even embraced, and that would have been that. Because if something characterizes these men, it is their straight back and their big heart.

I was curious about John. I have often thought of him. Arie, the other Peter, Onno, even the until then secret lover of Peter R., all of them spoke. But not John. Too much security and too much personal sorrow, I know that now.

Whether stopping had been an option, Eva asked. I also saw a small wrinkle under her eyes that betrayed her sadness. Your husband had nodded. That has been discussed. Also with you. But then? Who wins then? And what is left of him?

Together you decided to continue. With this life. In this form. And for that, I want to thank John, but also very much you. What a sacrifice. Know that we know. And we thank you.

Love, May-Britt