After his death, I built a quiet life around books, gardening, and occasional dinners with friends.
I owned a comfortable house in a desirable neighborhood, inherited some investments from my parents, and received a modest pension. I wasn’t rich, but I had enough to live independently.
Daniel, on the other hand, appeared to have more money than he knew what to do with.
He ran a medical logistics company that supplied equipment to clinics and private hospitals. He drove an expensive car, owned a modern house on the outskirts of town, and wore watches that probably cost more than my first car.
When I asked why a man like him was interested in a retired schoolteacher, he gave me an answer I desperately wanted to believe.
“Because everyone else sees what I own,” he said. “You ask me what I think.”
It sounded sincere.
And perhaps, at that moment, part of him meant it.
