He smiled through his tears.
“On the third day, when I saw you spend half your salary buying books for a boy whose mother couldn’t afford them. That day, I realized I wasn’t coming back simply to look after you anymore.”
I remained silent for a long time.
Then I asked:
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth when we got married?”
“Because your mother asked me to wait until the danger had passed. And when it finally did, I was afraid you would think our entire marriage had been a lie.”
“So instead, you lied to me for 53 years.”
He didn’t try to defend himself.
“Yes. And you have every right to be angry with me.”
I stood up and walked over to the window.
I thought of my mother. She had died ten years after our wedding without ever telling me anything.
I also remembered Elizabeth, who had said to me before she died:
