Author's note: Hey again! Wow, I am impressed by the number of people actually following this story! It's pretty amazing to me and also quite motivating. Thank you! :-)

To the guest who gave me some update information about Trazodone: thank you! I may correct that later on but for now, the funny thing is that having made that mistake more or less serves my purpose. ^^

Also, some people are seriously angry... Honestly, you'd better relax. It's just a story. Some of you said that writing a letter did not mean anything, and/or that it was the dumbest thing to do but, you know, I have to disagree. First, because I am the one writing this story and I basically do what I want (lol) but mostly because I truly think that in the era of e-mails, web chats, phone texts and so on, actual letters are so much more personal and incredibly intimate. Now, you don't have to agree with me, of course, but at least I will have voiced my humble opinion.

And if you're feeling conflicted about this story, all the better! This is why it's titled "Rarely pure, never simple" after all.

Special thanks to all of you who took the time to review and told me you're actually enjoying this.

Enjoy the third chapter, starting with Kate's letter. ;-)

Dear Rick,

I really don't know where to begin so I guess I'll start with what matters most: I love you.
I love you so, so much. I never stopped and I never will.

Out of all the things I am going to write down in this letter, this is really the only one I need you to believe.

The reason why I sent LT to the loft this morning is that when I retrieved your wallet last night, I could not help myself and opened it.

One could probably state that I don't even have that right any longer but, Castle, I swear I just wanted to take a look at the wedding photograph you keep there. But then I spotted the medical prescription you left amongst your notes.

Rick, I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I know I've hurt you – once again, you might say, and you wouldn't be wrong – and even though that was never my intent in the first place, it doesn't change anything about the wound I inflicted upon you, upon us.

I am glad you went to see your doctor for help, though. I – I just wish you never had to, and I am perfectly aware this is all on me.

Please don't beat yourself up over our current predicament.

Babe, you didn't do or say anything wrong. You are indeed, to a certain extent, the reason why I left our home – and God, you would not believe how much I long for your arms to hold me at night – but not because I didn't want to be with you anymore, never because of that.

I hate this mess - just as much as you do, if not more since I am at its origin - except that I probably lost my right to complain when I asked you for space. Even so, you have to know I miss you. I am utterly miserable without you by my side and there's nothing I want more than to come back home to you.

Home is where you are. That's why I took one of your shirts the other day. I don't want to erase you from my life – quite the opposite. I want to keep you close and, wow, I must sound like such a hypocrite to you right now.

I am so sorry. I wish I could explain better.

But I can't.

I can't and I can't even tell you why. I can't explain because that might lead to serious collateral damage that, if it were to happen, I am pretty sure I would not survive. It's a risk I am not willing to take. It's not about not trusting you. I trust you with every fiber of my being, every single parcel of my heart and soul.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I love you, Rick. I swear I love you and I swear I am trying my hardest to clear this situation as fast as humanly possible.

I am also aware that when I come back home – not if, Rick, when – you might still reject me, and even though it pains me to admit it, I wouldn't hold it against you. Hell, even if you do welcome me back, we will probably struggle to find our pace again and that, too, will be on me.

As selfish as it may sound, I am placing my bet on your heart, Babe - your beautiful heart that is so much bigger than mine – to heal us when this whole mess is over.

I love you. I always will.

Always.

Kate

As Castle finished reading, he could not quite put his finger on what feeling dominated the myriad of conflicting emotions rushing through him.

He easily recognized the scalding hot burn of anger and the viciousness of wickedness, the supposedly justified need to hurt his wife the way she hurt him – and who could blame him? His wife herself wrote she'd understand this type of reaction - but he was also experiencing the balm of reassurance wrapping around his wounded heart like the softest of bandages, along with the quiet whispers of love carefully soothing his tormented mind.

The writer in him could not help it: he started re-reading the letter, over and over again until he could practically recite every single sentence by heart. Then he started reading between the lines. Eventually, he knew.

Hope, bright and strong, flared inside his chest with as much clarity as a beam a sunlight cutting through the thickest morning fog.

Kate was not running from him, not in the way he'd previously thought she was.

She had found his doctor's prescription and had cared enough to reach out to him in the only way she could without anybody else being able to access it. That was why she'd entrusted LT with the envelope. She'd needed the safety and intimacy of a letter, and that alone spoke louder than all the words she'd written down.

For some reason, his mind wandered back to Willow Creek.

"Ours is a great love story. And what's a great love story without obstacles to overcome? Every fairy tale has them. Terrible trials that only the worthy can transcend. But, you can't give up. That's the deal. We want the happy ending? We can't give up."

Looking back down at Kate's letter, it suddenly did not feel like she was giving up.

Well, he would be damned if he did.

All he needed to do was what he did best: follow the evidence. Follow the evidence, and find the story.

It was always about the story.

But first, he needed to give his wife something in return. And so, without the slightest hint of hesitation, he set to work.