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Story Notes:
This is my first time writing fan fic but I've loved Prison Break since I was 12. 10 years later, my love for the show is both restored and renewed. Because of this history, nostalgia always presents itself whenever I watch the series. This is where I got the idea for this story. I know this isn't traditional fan fic format and I'm not a skilled writer so I'm not sure whether this is okay or not, but hopefully, you will review. Thank you!

Some notes:
- I always thought that the dates and timeline in PB were bull. Inconsistent and didn't make sense. Strangely, for a show involving plans and being on the run, the timeline wasn't given as much attention and accuracy, at least to me. So I'm flying blind here. the dates in the letters aren't necessarily true (at most, I think the year/s will be correct). Hope that's alright.
- I'm thinking of doing multiple chapters but still deciding if I should do dates in reverse chronology or random order.
Author's Chapter Notes:
The first letter in the series --

Sara is writing from her flight.
June 15, 2017

M,

I am onboard back to New York. It has probably been around four hours since I left. I don't understand how it's possible that those 240 minutes were more excruciating than the last seven years. I don't understand how it's possible that I am leaving once again. Of course, this time, it's different. But no, not really. Just like the last time, we’re still doing this for Mike. We’re still shattered when we realize the moment our hands separate, it may truly be the last. Seven years later, we’re still having our hearts broken, aren’t we?

I confess. I have written you many letters in the past years. In Panama, when I thought you were gone, I wrote daily. It was how I coped. I’m a medical doctor but I didn’t know how to treat grief and loss so acute and chronic l, I thought there would be no use for intervention. Healing was for the living and losing you felt like death a thousand times over. I was so angry then – all my letters began with variations of I hate you or I wish we never met. They always ended the same. With I love you and Please come back.

When I gave birth, I wrote you every time I could get a break from changing diapers or feeding or losing my entire mind - which wasn't often. But I also wrote when Mike did something spectacular - which was everything and always. Of course, he did. He’s your son; he’s just like you. Michael, I don't know which broke my heart more; the fact that you were missing out on our beautiful child's days or that he was missing the most selfless, loving father who would, who did, go to the ends of the earth to protect us.

In Ithaca, when we were trying to start a new life, I realized, it wouldn't be fair to him if I didn't change my ways. I need you to understand, it didn't mean I loved you less. I just couldn’t love you the same. I wrote thrice a year. On our anniversary, on Mike's birthday and the day you gave me the rose (which was my birthday). I couldn't write to you on yours. We never even properly celebrated one. How's that, Michael? Tell me, how is it, that I wasn't even allowed the simple gesture of kissing and greeting you at midnight? That I wasn't even able to throw you a surprise party which I’m sure would have ended with us drunk and dancing? How could it be, that after deaths and prison breaks and being on the run and avoiding bullets for breakfast and bringing down a conspiracy, that we weren't even able to share a goddamn slice of cake? I'm sorry. I was too busy crying and trying not to get caught that I didn't have it in me to write. See, not even a birthday card. I couldn't even. Not then, not now.

Seeing you today, exhausted and sick but alive, it felt like all my birthday wishes came true. In hindsight, I think, before I even met you, I had been wishing for you. And now that you're back, hand to God, nothing will stop me from making sure you're there on Mike's birthday and mine and we'll finally get to eat cake on yours. I'll write you a hundred birthday cards – for the last seven years, and all the ones before; before Fox River, before Florida, and maybe even for all the ones in our past lives because if there is one thing I could believe, it’s that you are the only one I have ever loved like this. And Michael, I don't have to tell you that your love transcends universes and deaths and lifetimes. Your love creates miracles. Your love has always sustained me.

I love you. Please come back - to our child, to me, to us.

Yours (in life, death and everywhere in between),
S
PS. I never write on that November day. I don’t see the point in writing both our eulogies.
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you for reading! This was an exciting experience.