“He said that if I ever crossed paths with you, I should treat you with kindness.”
I felt the words settle between us, soft and unsettling.
“When did he say that?”
“After I told him I was seeing you seriously.”
I remembered Alexander’s father then, not from the company dinner, but from a brief visit to the hospital after Alexander and I had announced our engagement.
He had shaken my hand and told me he was glad his son had found someone who made him laugh.
I had taken it for a polite welcome.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t understand the significance. My father made the request, and I thought he was simply
being sentimental.”
“You could have mentioned it.”
“Yes,” he said. “I could have.”
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
I studied him, trying to decide whether I trusted the regret in it.
