It’s been more than a year now, since my ship became stranded in the Delta Quadrant. I have to believe that someday you’ll read this, and that if I’m very lucky, you’ll even understand, and we might even be able to salvage our relationship. I have to be reasonable, though. I fully expect that in time, if this situation persists for as long as I suspect it will, you’ll have moved on. I want to assure you that I haven’t come to this conclusion lightly. You have been my rock, and without you, I really have gone floating into space, just as you always used to joke.
I have struggled throughout this year with the decision I felt was of absolute necessity, mandated by all my principles, and the duty I swore to uphold as a Starfleet officer, the destruction of the array that originally brought Voyager more than 70,000 lightyears away from home. I wish I could express to you how I came to make the decision to destroy the array without calling on Starfleet ideals, that I did it somehow to protect you, everyone we’ve ever known and loved. But it was never that simple, and my life has grown only more complicated since.