“I know.”
His
voice was quiet.
I felt angry, but mostly I felt tired.
“I tried to hold on.”
Jeffrey looked toward the window.
“When your letters slowed down, I thought your father had been right. I thought you were moving on.”
“My letters slowed down because yours did.”
My friend nodded.
“I know that now. I actually knew before the wedding.”
I stared at him.
“I know that now.”
He continued.
“Your father visited me.”
“What?”
“He came to tell me he’d been wrong.”
My father had died the following year after
a long illness.
Jeffrey said that my father began regretting what he’d done. He gave Jeffrey the wooden box as an apology; it included letters he’d sent to my mother before they married.
“Your father visited me.”
My father was also in love with someone whose parent thought they were making a mistake. But if he had listened then,
