Marianne closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Owen shifted beside me.
There it was.
Not cruelty.
Not some grand conspiracy.
A human choice.
And perhaps the wrong one.
“I was young,” Marianne said. “I thought I was preventing trouble.”
Mrs. Parker gave a small, sad laugh.
“You were forty.”
“That feels young from ninety-one.”
Even Mrs. Parker smiled.
Marianne continued.
“Thomas had a wife and a little boy. You had your career. I thought digging up old feelings would hurt everyone.”
“So you told him I’d moved on.”
“Yes.”
“And you told me nothing.”
“Yes.”
For several seconds there was only the hum of an air conditioner.
Then Owen asked the question adults were avoiding.
“Do you regret it?”
Marianne looked at him.
“Every year.”
Mrs. Parker’s expression softened.
Marianne reached across the table.
“I am sorry, Eleanor.”
Mrs. Parker looked at her hand.
Then took it.
“I wish you had trusted us to decide for ourselves.”
