I froze.
“Who answered?”
“Mary.”
MARY HAD BEEN AT MY HOUSE
“She told me she was helping you through the breakup.”
“There was no breakup.”
“I know that now.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“I heard somebody crying behind her.”
My throat tightened.
“Me.”
“Mary said you were devastated and had begged her not to let me speak to you.”
“I was crying because you hadn’t shown up!”
“I didn’t know.”
“I thought you might be dead.”
“I know.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“What happened after the phone call?”
“Mary wrote to me.”
“As you?”
“No.”
“As herself.”
That was somehow worse.
SHE KEPT HERSELF IN HIS LIFE
“At first she told me you were struggling.”
“That I needed to respect your decision.”
“Then?”
“She started asking how I was.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“She told me she understood what it was like to love somebody who didn’t love you back.”
I already understood.
“She loved you.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“I eventually realized.”
“What did you do?”
“I stopped responding.”
That evening—
I called Mary.
I PUT THE FORGED LETTER BETWEEN US
She arrived at my Bellmere home twenty minutes later.
The moment she saw the letter—
her face went white.
I asked one question.
“How long did it take you to learn my handwriting?”
“Eleanor…”
“Answer me.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’d been copying your notes since high school.”
“Why?”
She looked down.
“Thomas and I had English together.”
I waited.
“We stayed after class sometimes.”
“Talking about books.”
“Shakespeare.”
“Poetry.”
Her expression softened in spite of herself.
“We would underline the same lines.”
I stared.
“You thought Thomas loved you because you both liked Shakespeare?”
“I convinced myself he did.”
“While he was dating me?”
“I thought he was afraid to admit it.”
“And you thought I was standing in his way.”
“Yes.”
“So you forged my letter.”
Mary began crying.
“I was twenty.”
“AND AT THIRTY?”
She went silent.
“At forty?”
Nothing.
“When my mother died?”
Her face crumpled.
“When I told you Thomas was the one person I wished I could call?”
“Eleanor, please.”
“When you sat beside me at Maplewood Café watching me stare at his empty chair?”
“I was ashamed.”
“No.”
I pushed the forged letter toward her.
“You were afraid the truth would cost you me.”
She stared at it.
For fifty years—
Mary knew exactly why Thomas never sat in that chair.
And every August—
she watched me wait.
“I know.”
“No, Mary.”
I shook my head.
“I can understand the twenty-year-old girl who made one terrible choice.”
She looked at me.
“I cannot understand the woman who chose that lie again every single year afterward.”
I OPENED THE FRONT DOOR
“Go home.”
“Can I call you?”
“Not soon.”
“Will that ever change?”
I looked at her.
Then said:
“For once, Mary…”
I opened the door wider.
“…you’ll have to live without knowing whether I’m coming back.”
She left.
THEN I HAD ONE QUESTION FOR MY HUSBAND
Thomas returned later.
I didn’t allow him to apologize.
“Why didn’t you look for me?”
