“Then why are you giving me these things?”
He smiled.
“Because I want to.”
Sometimes I thought he was trying to make up for fifty years.
One evening, I found him sitting alone in his study.
There were documents spread across the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I smiled.
“You’ve never been good at hiding things.”
He looked at me.
Then he reached for my hand.
“Margaret, promise me something.”
“What?”
“If something happens to me, don’t let anyone convince you that you didn’t belong here.”
I laughed nervously.
“Why would you say that?”
“Just promise.”
So I did.
“I promise.”
He kissed my hand.
Six weeks later, he died.
A heart attack.
There was no warning.
One minute he was complaining about the weather.
The next, he was gone.
I remember sitting beside him in the hospital.
Holding his hand.
Telling him I loved him.
Even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
The funeral was three days later.
I wore a simple dark dress.
The same dress I would later leave his house wearing.
After everyone left, Rebecca approached me.
“You need to go.”
I stared at her.
“Go where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Rebecca…”
