27th August 1951


Two days ago I received a message. It was handed to me by Frank’s landlady after I’d gone yet again to see if he’d returned. He’s been gone for over a week now and I was getting worried about him. I needn’t have been. He’s moved on and won’t be coming back.

Frank’s note only has a few lines in it. I’ve read them so many times I can repeat them by heart:


Please understand that this is hard for me, but I have decided to move on. Some friends of mine have told me about a good business opportunity and I’ll be moving to another area, perhaps even returning to Italy by next month. I may come back from time to time and if we bump into each other again it would be nice to see you.

I’m glad you have found happiness with your husband. Enjoy your life


I feel so stupid.

This will be the last time I'll write in this diary. I have nothing left to say, nothing left worth writing. There’s nothing left.