Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dear Phoenix Wright, 

It’s funny, isn’t it? How you can love someone so deeply and still never find the courage to tell them. I’ve started this letter a thousand times, and each time I stop because I can’t imagine what you’d say if you read it.

Have you heard of multiverse theory? There’s one interpretation I think of often: the many-worlds interpretation. It’s the idea that for every choice we didn’t make, there’s another version of us that did. So, somewhere out there, there’s a version of me who said all of this to your face. I envy them more than I can say.

There would also be a world where none of this even happened to me. No trials, no tragedies, no nightmares. No impossible weight on my shoulders from the moment I could understand what it meant to carry someone’s expectations. Von Karma’s expectations. Maybe in that world, I’d be someone good - someone who didn’t lose themselves chasing an illusion. 

But this is the world I’m in - the only one I know. And in this world, I traded justice for perfection. I told myself I was upholding the law, but I was simply too afraid to fail.

I wonder, sometimes, how many lives I ruined to preserve my record. How many innocents I condemned because I was too proud to admit I might be wrong.

Recently, I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that I was different from him - that his shadow wasn’t still looming over me. But what if I was wrong? What if everything I’ve done has just been another way of proving him right? That I’m no better than the man I’ve spent my adult life trying to escape?

I’m sorry, Wright, I’m rambling. I suppose it’s easier to dissect my flaws than to say what I really mean. Maybe that’s why I started writing this in the first place - to get lost in the noise of my own guilt so I wouldn’t have to admit what’s been clawing at me for so long. But I can’t avoid it forever. Not here, not now.

You asked me once what was so bad about losing a case. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to answer you. But, now, it seems simple. If I lose, it means I wasn't good enough. It means von Karma was right about me.

So I tried. I tried to be better than him. I tried to prove myself worthy. And, when I couldn't, I resorted to dirty tactics. They didn’t belong in a court of law. It was so easy to let it all consume me - so easy to become the very thing I despised. And that was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? To see me fall into darkness and stay there. He won the game we were playing. The one where I thought I was in control, but I was just his puppet.

When you met me again, for the first time since we were kids, you saw something worth saving. You looked at the monster I became and thought there was still good left in me.

I hope you're right. I hope the man you met all those years ago was more than a lie. But, if he was, I don't think I can ever fix him again. I can't be saved anymore, Phoenix.

You know, you’ve always been the exception, haven’t you? The one person who could look past my walls, my arrogance, my failures, and still see me. I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you could ever look at someone like me - with all my guilt, all my cowardice - and believe there’s anything left to save.

I told myself, back then, that it was your stubbornness. Your foolish need to see the best in people, even when it wasn’t there. But that’s not the truth, is it? The truth is, I didn’t want to believe you. Because believing you meant hoping. Hoping that I could be more than the man I’ve become. And hope is dangerous when you’ve spent your life building yourself on fear and control.

Yet every time I saw you, it chipped away at the armor I’d spent so long crafting. Every smile, every ridiculous bluff, every time you called me out on my nonsense - it all made me want to be someone you’d be proud to stand beside. Not the perfect prosecutor. Not the man with the spotless record. Just… me.

And that’s the cruelest irony of all, isn’t it? You’re the only one who makes me feel like I could be better. Like I should be better. But I can’t bring myself to face you now, knowing what I’ve done. Knowing how far I’ve fallen.

And maybe that’s why I can’t tell you. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this letter instead of saying it to your face. Because the truth is, I want you to know, Phoenix. I want you to know how much you mean to me - how much you changed me. But I also know that if I said it, if I admitted it out loud, you’d want to fix me. You’d want to believe that I can be saved. And I’m not sure I even believe that anymore.

Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed away. I didn’t want to burden you with someone like me, someone who can’t keep promises, who falls short when it matters. I wanted to believe that you were better off not knowing the depth of my failure. That you deserved someone who could be the man you saw in me, someone worth your faith.

Von Karma always said that weakness was the enemy, that emotions were nothing more than distractions. I thought I was stronger than that. I thought I could lock away all the parts of me that would get in the way, especially the parts that were vulnerable, that wanted to care. But the more I pushed those parts down, the more they twisted. I thought I was better for it, that I could rise above what others were willing to give up, but I was just fooling myself.

And now, looking back, I realise I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove him right. To prove that I could be a man without weakness, without love, without compassion. But all I’ve proven is how far that mindset can take you. It takes you away from the people who matter. It takes you away from yourself. And in the end, it doesn’t matter how many cases you win or how many trials you close with a perfect record.

Because none of it makes you whole. None of it fills the emptiness inside. And God, Phoenix, I’ve never been more empty in my life.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You never wanted me to be perfect. You never expected me to be flawless. You just wanted me to be… there. And I’m sorry, Phoenix. I’m sorry for all the times I couldn’t be.

I wish I could tell you all of this face to face. I wish I could look you in the eye and be honest with you. But for now, this letter will have to be enough. I don’t know what comes after this, or if you’ll ever read it. But I had to try, if only to say the things I never could.

I don’t know why I’m still holding on, or if I even have the strength to anymore. Maybe I’m just too tired of pretending that I can fix myself, too tired of carrying this burden alone. In the end, maybe it’s all just a matter of time. Time until I can’t run from the mess I’ve made of myself. I’ve seen it all before - the way the darkness creeps in when you’ve gone too far, when you’ve done too much to ever make it right.

I don’t know how to ask for help. I don’t think I ever learned how. And I’m sorry for that, Phoenix. I’m sorry for not being the person you thought I could be. I’m sorry that the boy you met all those years ago has become this man who’s fallen so far.

I wish I could see you one last time. I wish I could tell you I was wrong, that I can be saved. But I don’t think I can. I think this is the end of the road for me, in every sense.

I know you won’t understand this. I know you’ll wonder what I could have been if I’d only fought a little harder. Maybe part of me wonders that too, but I know I can’t change it. I’ve reached the end of my road. There’s no more light at the end, Phoenix. Not for me. I’ve made my peace with that. 

God, I’m so tired. Every day, I find myself further from the man I used to think I could be. I’ve run from my own mistakes for so long, I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I wish I could say I’m sorry for the choice I’m making, but in some strange way, I’m not. I’m sorry that I failed you, that I failed all of us, but I think I’ve run out of ways to fix what I broke. So, this is where it ends.

You deserved someone who could give you everything you wanted. But I’m not that man. I’ll never be that man.

I’m sorry. It’s too little, and far too late, but it’s all I have to give. I’m sorry. For everything.

Goodbye, Phoenix. Goodbye.

- Miles Edgeworth