At 69, I Sold My House to Travel Around the World Despite My Children’s Protests – In Australia, a Man Invited Me to His Home for Coffee, but When I Walked Into His Living Room, I Froze

I looked at the painting.

“He painted this here?”

“Yes.”

“He told me he painted it after we were married.”

“He painted another version after you were married.”

Arthur pointed toward the painting.

“This one came first.”

I felt something twist inside me.

“All these years…”

“Yes.”

“He never told me.”

Arthur smiled faintly.

“Robert kept some parts of his younger life private.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because he was afraid you’d think those years mattered more than the life he built with you.”

I swallowed.

“They did matter?”

Arthur nodded.

“But not in the way you think.”

He picked up one of the envelopes.

“Near the end of his life, Robert found me again.”

“How?”

“An old friend gave him my address.”

“And then?”

“We started writing.”

“How often?”

“At first, every few months.”

Arthur paused.

“Then almost every week.”

I stared at him.

“What did you talk about?”

Arthur looked directly at me.

“You.”

I laughed nervously.

“Me?”

“Mostly.”

“Why?”

“He worried about you.”

My smile disappeared.

“What did he worry about?”

“That after he died, you would forget how to live.”

Those words hit me harder than I expected.

Arthur continued.

“He knew you were always taking care of everyone.”