Daniel had understood that fear.
He had used it.
He had made me feel young, cherished, and extraordinary, then turned my longing for companionship into a weapon against me.
But he had made one terrible mistake.
He had assumed that because I was sixty-four, I was finished asking questions.
He had mistaken my kindness for weakness.
He had mistaken my willingness to love again for desperation.
And he had mistaken my age for an inability to fight back.
I lifted my cup.
The tea was warm, fragrant, and perfectly ordinary.
Helen smiled at me.
“Do you regret marrying him?”
I watched a bird land on the garden wall.
“I regret trusting someone who gave me reasons not to trust him. But I won’t regret the fact that I was brave enough to open my heart again.”
She reached for my hand.
“And will you ever love again?”
I laughed softly.
