My Soon-To-Be Son.

Isabella left me quite a long while ago. I do not know where she went, and nobody cares to tell me. I have my assumptions, but, again, nobody will even drop the slightest hint. I don’t know why I ramble on about this nonsense, because it no longer matters where she went. I do know she had a child. My child. She has died since the child was born, just like my lovely Catherine. Catherine died the day she gave birth to her daughter, another Catherine, and I must grieve her absence. Isabella, on the other hand, has no meaning to me at all. It’s better off that she die. I have heard that Edgar Linton has gone to retrieve the boy that is my son, and take him to Thrushcross Grange. Since his mother is gone, though, I can’t think of any other place he’d rather be than with me here at Wuthering Heights. I do believe that I will get my son here when he arrives at Thruscross Grange; it is only a matter of time. I mean, how can one deny access to his own flesh and blood? Old Edgar may try his hardest, but that boy shall be mine. He is all I have left, especially since Catherine has been gone a long twelve years. When the young boy is in my hands I know I will stir up a way to get back at Edgar Linton. He took away my Catherine, so I only think it fair that I take away his.