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Except, that is, for Sandra's absence. God, we missed her. What had they done to her? We couldn't help but dwell on the likelihood that Sandra had somehow been done in by going to great lengths to help us. Had we received even the slightest indication that she was alive and able to be rescued, we would have done everything in our power to help her out – even if it meant risking our own lives. No such indications ever popped up. Still, we kept our ears open for any news about her, although our isolation was such that word from the outside world rarely passed our way. Even the grapevine at the warehouse – where several of Wendy's co-workers knew Sandra – failed to turn up anything. Then again, everyone knew the consequences of talking in public about forbidden subjects. Any speculation that might have been out there was suppressed out of fear.Despite the huge hole in our lives, Wendy and I still had each other to lean on. One night, less than a week prior to the two-year anniversary of. Letters, love letters really, forbidden fantasies detailing longings to help cope with lonely nights. They talked regularly, about everything. They were both from broken families, keeping in touch only when absolutely necessary. They both felt too old for kids, even though neither were more than 35 years of age. They spoke often of books each had enjoyed or not enjoyed, sharing authors, poems and even the occasional online story favourite.She was waiting, and remembering; remembering the first tentative email. He is just like you, a victim of love lost, her friend had told her. He needs someone to talk to, just like you do. Someone who could understand. A sympathetic ear. So she sent the email, expecting nothing yet hoping for everything. And waited. She waited a lot, and sometimes felt like all she ever did was wait.Her last boyfriend made her wait too. First she waited for him to ask her out. He was a cute guy in her senior year at college, and he often eyed her, yet never got the.
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