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Dear far, I am writing this letter because I simply can’t carry this silence anymore. I need to tell you how profoundly sorry I am. I am sorry for making everything hard and for pushing you 'I mean, us- to the absolute breaking point. I truly believed with every fiber of my being that you had it, that you would pass the battery exam. My faith in you was absolute. Now, faced with this terrifying uncertainty, I feel a dizzying sense of confusion and failure. I honestly don't know anymore, and that doubt is crushing me. I look at everything we’ve been through and it feels like I have messed up everything. I know you might be crying right now, and I know you might even hate me for the decisions I made, the pressure I put on you, or the way I handled things. Please believe me when I say that thought—that I am the cause of your tears—is tearing me apart. I am riddled with paralyzing uncertainty about everything: the QPA, whether I even passed and am qualified to take the exam, or if I somehow failed it despite passing every other hurdle. I am drowning in a sea of "what-ifs" and "should-haves." If only I could turn back time, if I could rewind just to that one moment where things shifted—I would have done better. I should have done better. The regret is a physical ache in my chest right now. I feel like I am hanging by a thread, barely holding on to hope, logic, or certainty. All I know to do now is release this outcome, this unbearable anxiety, into the hands of something bigger than me. Let’s leave this to God. But please, even as I stand here in the wreckage of my own making, know this: Congratulations, my love, if you have passed. If you have succeeded despite all the turmoil and my own failings, that is the single greatest victory I could ever hope for. With all my sorrow and all my desperate hope, My future self far....