What V. also wrote in the mail: he was curious to see what I was up to, found my blog, and read the entire thing from beginning to end. I stared at the computer screen. He used the word “devastating.” My ears felt the way they do when an airplane drops in altitude; there was a fist in my stomach, or the beginnings of an implosion. He wrote that while he knew that V. was fictitious, if he existed he’d surely throw up in his wastepaper basket, he’d fall to his knees with tears streaming down his face. He’d beg for forgiveness. I would have cried if the shock hadn’t rendered me immobile. You read my blog, I thought, my God, you read everything I wrote.