He didn’t ask me to come back.
His letter had only one page.
“Margaret, I wanted to find out the truth about my mother and I ended up doing the exact thing I hated in others: I decided that my goal gave me the right to lie. He wasn’t giving me. I’m sorry.”
I kept the letter.
I didn’t answer him immediately.
After another month, I invited him to a coffee shop.
The same time we first met.
When he came in, he was standing.
Can I sit down?
This time I smiled.
“Now you asked how you had to.
He sat down.
“I don’t invite you back to my house,” I said.
I understand.
And there is no romantic relationship between us.
I understand.
If you want to tell me about your mother, I’ll listen to you.
