The afternoon he bought me lemon ice and wiped sugar from my thumb.
The quiet moment beside the sea when he said he was glad I had said yes.
I had thought life brought us together.
David had recognized me.
Followed me.
Chose not to tell me why.
“You used me,” I said.
“At first, I wanted answers.”
“What answers?”
“I wanted to know whether Michael had ruined your life the way Ruth’s secret ruined mine.”
I stared at him.
“Did I look ruined?”
“No.”
“Did that disappoint you?”
His face twisted.
“At first? Maybe.”
The honesty was ugly but I appreciated it anyway.
David had spent six years believing his marriage to Ruth was honest.
Then, after her death, he found another life hidden inside it.
He came to Malta because this was where it began.
The first time, he sat at the restaurant for three hours and never ordered food.
He returned the following year.
Then again.
When he found Michael’s envelope addressed to me, he searched for a way to contact me.
Before he could decide what to do, Clara saw my daughter post about my trip online.
“Rebecca posted about Malta?”
“She wrote that she was proud of you for finally traveling alone.”
I closed my eyes.
That was how David knew where I would be.
“I didn’t know your hotel,” he said. “I didn’t know your schedule. Seeing you in that street truly was chance.”
“A convenient chance.”
“Yes.”
“Did Clara come here to stop you?”
“She came because I called her.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid I would ask you to stay.”
The words hurt differently.
I sat down again.
David took a breath.
“I have a small house outside Valletta. Ruth inherited it from her sister. I planned to sell it after this trip.”
“You live in England.”
“Part of the year. I started spending winters here after Ruth died.”
“So even that was a lie.”
“I told you I was visiting for the first time this year. I let you hear what you expected.”
“You said, ‘First time in Malta?’ as if it was your first time too.”
“I know.”
I reached for the envelope.
My fingers trembled.
“Have you read it?”
“No.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t.”
That answer was the first thing he said all evening that made me trust him a little.
I opened the envelope.
The letter inside was only two pages.
Michael had written it 20 years earlier.
He told me about Ruth.
Not every detail.
Enough.
He wrote that he had confused escape with love.
That Ruth made him feel like a man without bills, routines, or responsibilities.
He said he ended it because he realized the life he wanted to escape was also the life he would choose if forced to lose it.
