My chest tightened.
“Why?”
She smiled sadly.
“Because it was the only place where I could remember being myself.”
I looked at her.
“Did you ever think about contacting me?”
“Many times.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She looked down at her hands.
“Because I thought you would have forgotten me. And because I was afraid that if I heard your voice, I would realize how unhappy I was.”
I had no answer.
For a moment, I wanted to tell her that I had never forgotten her.
But I knew that the man I had become belonged to another life, one that included Margaret, our children, and decades of memories I would never trade away.
So I simply said, “I’m sorry you had to carry all of that alone.”
She nodded.
Then she took my hand.
Neither of us let go for a long time.
By the end of the summer, I had begun looking forward to our meetings more than anything else in my week.
