Author's Note: This is another old story of mine that I am archiving here. I wrote it in November 2002 when I finally and irrevocably became disgusted with the character of Ethan on Passions. If you watched back then, you know that it was uber difficult to be a fan of Theresa and watch the show because she was essentially mistreated on a daily basis, all the while Ethan was supposed to be a paragon of virtue.

To put in perspective, I wrote this story after Theresa was "executed" (we all know she came back) for the murder of Julian Crane. Julian, of course, wasn't actually dead. Theresa did not put up much of a defense because she thought Ethan had killed Julian on her behalf and that Prince Ethan would never let it get to the point of her actually dying. Well, he didn't step in. Nope, he did the unthinkable. No kidding...hours after Theresa's funeral, he was back in bed with Gwen. From that point on, Ethan's character was ruined.

In retrospect, I think I had always liked Ethan because he was who Theresa wanted, but for him to be so utterly disrespectful to her memory, I just couldn't justify supporting that fictional relationship anymore. And really, that was just the beginning of his emotional cruelty toward her that would go on and on and on ...

Anyhow, I wrote all of the above to say that this is what I wish Theresa would have said to Ethan instead of pining and scheming for him for six more years.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Passions. If I did, you can bet that things would have been much, much different.

Dear Ethan,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone.

What's the use of going on anymore? I've been clinging to a dream, a dream that has slipped through my fingers the way sand slips through an hourglass. Little by little, grain by grain.

You've worn away at me.

I've let you wear away at me, but no longer.

You called me a liar.

And still I've loved you.

You let others cast stones at me.

And still I've loved you.

You watched me give my life for you, unmoved, still disapproving.

And still I've loved you. I would gladly have done it again.

You turned your back on me.

And still I've loved you.

But I'm empty now, Ethan. I used to always think my love for you was boundless, that nothing could kill it. I foolishly equated my self-worth with keeping your love.

"Oh yes, if Ethan loves me, I must be a good person."

I lived to be what you want.

Guess what, Ethan? I've killed myself. I have cut the cancer from my body. I've left myself bleeding. I've twisted the knife.

I take that back.

You've twisted the knife.

Mr. Perfect himself is decidedly imperfect.

You called me a liar.

You're the biggest liar of them all, Ethan. You say you prize honesty and trust, but that's laughable. How many times have you pointed your finger at me and scoffed? How many times have you promised me that you would always be there for me, that you loved me no matter what, only to turn around and place conditions on that love?

You told me you would never hurt me, but that's all you've done. You used my love for you against me in court with your viper mother cheering on her venomous spawn. How could you do that? How could you take something that had been so beautiful between us and twist it into something so ugly?

You took Gwen to your bed hours after I gave my life for you. Just how did you manage that? Did you even stop to think of me—or the baby I was leaving behind? Did you ever mourn for me, for us, for what could have been?

You invited yourself and Gwen into my home, slept in the room next to mine, and tortured me with the sounds I heard.

You belittled the relationship we did have by buying an engagement ring at the store where you bought mine. "It's just a ring," you told me.

Just a ring.

Do you remember when I had to give up the ring you gave me after you found out you weren't a Crane? I was devastated, not because of its monetary value, but because of its sentimental value. You'd made such a spectacle of how it was a symbol of the love we shared—and then that love was snatched away just as harshly as Julian and Rebecca snatched it from my finger.

But do you know what was even more devastating to me? I realized that you had nothing—and I saw how it tore you up. It broke my heart to see you hurting! I would have physically taken your pain from you if I could.

Damn it, Ethan! I loved you so much that it hurt. I hurt from the sheer joy of loving and being loved by you.

I hurt from the sheer agony of always trying to measure up to your idea of who I was.

I hurt from knowing that the vultures were always pecking away at me, trying to take the skin off my bones, trying to destroy me, and you never could see it.

Do you remember what I did, Ethan? I went to the bank and withdrew my life's savings so you wouldn't be penniless and so that we could build a future together.

Some future you have, Ethan. How long has it been since you've had a job?

Tell me something. Did you use my life's savings to buy that ring for Gwen?

Oh, but it's just a ring.

But that wasn't all, was it? You said you didn't want a relationship with me, but every time I turned around you were there. Always wanting to help with the baby, always wanting to talk to me.

Why? So you could string me along, giving me the faintest glimmers of hope, only to push me away and throw Gwen in my face?

Ethan, did I mean so little to you?

And am I interchangeable with Gwen Hotchkiss?

Let me answer that for you. No.

And it's time you realized that.

The truth of the matter is that I am the only person who hasn't betrayed you. Of course, you wouldn't know that, but you're about to find out.

When you get the chance—if you're brave enough, man enough—ask Gwen and Rebecca what they know about the tabloid that revealed your paternity to the world. Ask them how they managed to get their hands on a certain laptop, how they pandered to Mort the reporter, and plotted our downfall.

Ask Gwen what kind of deal she made with Bruce in Bermuda and who Ethan Martin's real father is. It's a real doozy. And sweet, honest, classy Gwen, the "victim" of my lies is actually—gasp—a victimizer.

Ask your mother why she chose to reveal my pregnancy in the worst way possible. Ask her how she could have hurt you that way if she loves you the way she claims. Oh, and since honesty is so important to you, maybe you should tip off your father's wife that David Hastings is a fraud in a scheme perpetrated by…you guessed it…your dear mother.

While you have mommy dearest, you might ask her who helped to frame you for murder so that I would confess and go to the death chamber for you. Remember that, Ethan? You scolded me for not trusting you enough to come to you, but I thought you knew what I was doing because over and over you spewed threats against Julian.

Oh, and um, Rebecca will want to be in on that conversation, too.

By the way, while you're out there questioning everyone, you might want to question yourself, too. How could a man who claims to love a woman treat me the way you did? You fed me to the wolves, Ethan. You helped them sharpen their claws and tear into me.

Ironically, you were always so beautiful to me, Ethan.

So perfect.

So wonderful.

So fake.

You're just like a pastry that is fluffy and sweet but has no substance and leaves a bad taste in one's mouth.

No more. It ends here.

It's true.

By the time you read this, I'll be gone.

Gone from your life, that is. I have cut you out, Ethan. You are gone. Gone.

You should find your suitcases on the front lawn, along with Gwen's hideous wardrobe. You are a guest who has overstayed his welcome—in my home, and in my life.

I might have lost you Ethan, but through all of this, I've gained something even more valuable.

Myself.

And that, Ethan Winthrop, is something you will never have again.