Life had continued.
In a different way than we once imagined it.
But it had continued.
That day I stayed at Susan’s house for almost five hours.
We talked about college.
From the separated years.
Of our spouses.
Of our children.
Of the people we had become.
When I finally got up to leave, Susan walked me to the door.
“I don’t know what will happen now,” I said.
She smiled.
“Me neither.
For the first time all day, I smiled too.
Six months later, Susan and I continue to talk almost every day.
Sometimes we stay for coffee.
Sometimes we just sit down and talk about the strange paths that life took us through.
I don’t know what to call what we have now.
Maybe friendship.
Maybe something that still doesn’t need a name.
But I finally went to visit Linda’s grave.
I stayed there for a long time with his letter in my hand.
He was still hurt.
A part of me will probably always be.
But after thirty-six years together, I also knew something more.
A terrible decision didn’t erase all the good years that came after.
, vacations, illnesses, arguments, laughter, children, grandchildren.
Had it all started with a lie?
I felt nauseous.
Then Susan said something she didn’t expect.
Robert, there is more.
I turned around.
He put his hand back in the box and handed me a closed envelope.
This one was more recent.
My name was written with Linda’s handwriting.
My hands started shaking.
When did you get this?
“Three months ago.
I looked at her.
Susan nodded slowly.
Linda contacted me.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
He found me online. He told me she was sick.
Susan paused.
He apologized.
I sat in the chair again.
Did he tell you everything?
“Yes.
Susan watched me carefully.
“He said he had spent years trying to convince himself that what he had done no longer mattered because you had built a good life together.
My eyes were burning.
