Writer's Notebook

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is 'me,' begging the question who am I?

She knew, he'd been working on one last project. She knew he'd wanted to keep it secret. "When it's ready," he'd say. There's just so many things going round in my mind, I have to sort things out. The next day, he was no longer. All that was left, were the letters and the safe where the manuscript was kept. At first, she'd wondered whether she should. But how couldn't she? Resistance had never been her forte. But what she saw surprised even her. Not one but five different manuscripts. Each one bearing the same title; each one bearing one single letter for the author's name. It was only when she went back to the letters that she realised what he had done. He had sold his memoirs to five different publishers; a manuscript had been prepared for each one. But this was no fraud; each manuscript was different. Each looked at the world through the eyes of the man she had called husband. Five answers to the same riddle.