The realization hit me like a physical blow. All those times she insisted we move to this specific neighborhood. All those times she took “long walks” on Sundays. She was watching him.
She had lived her whole life in the orbit of a son she couldn’t touch. And she had lived it beside me, the husband she couldn’t tell. The weight of her silence must have been crushing. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was heartbroken for her. She had carried two worlds on her shoulders, and I had only seen one. I folded the letter and put it in my pocket.
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I stood up. My knees popped, and my back ached, but I felt a new purpose. I wasn’t just a widower anymore. I was a messenger. I walked to the phone in the hallway and dialed the number for a cab.
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