I
laughed so loudly Harold’s secretary probably heard it from home.
Robert had hated golf.
He had also known me too well.
The final line read:
You gave me thirty-four years, Maggie.
Do not give me the rest.
I folded the letter.
For the first time since Robert’s f/u/neral, I cried without trying to stop myself.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because I finally understood that loving someone did not require preserving them as perfect.
Robert had lied.
Robert had been afraid.
Robert had made mistakes.
Robert had also loved me.
All of those things could be true at once.
When we left Harold’s office, Daniel walked beside me.
“Margaret?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
He almost smiled.
“There are several candidates.”
I stopped walking.
“So choose the biggest one.”
“Leaving the hotel.”
I studied him.
“Not lying about why you approached me?”
