Like he was saying goodbye all over again. By the third month, I could not take it anymore.
That Saturday, I stepped out of my car and walked toward him. He heard my footsteps but did not turn around.
His hand stayed pressed against Emily’s name. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
“I’m Emily’s husband. I think it’s time you told me who you are.” For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he slowly stood, turned toward me, and looked like a man who had been waiting six months for this question.
Finally, he said: “Your wife was my…” Type “0503” and hit “Like” to see the full story.
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