Her head jerked up. “Already?” Her voice rose an octave higher. She squinted at me. “You already had someone lined up when you spoke to Mom, didn’t you?”
“I liked someone, yes,” I calmly replied. “But I wasn’t sure if she wanted to date me.”
“Because you’re a widower?” she demanded to know. She placed her tea on the table and crossed her arms. “Does she not want you seeing us? Is that why you’re cutting us out?”
I sighed and rubbed the throb between my eyes. “No. She hasn’t said anything negative about either of you. And Ihaven’tcut you out.”
“You told her about us?” She glared at me as she lifted her chin. “I don’t like to be discussed.”
This time, I couldn’t hide my frustration. “Sarah, I told her briefly about Hannah. How we met, how she passed, and that she had a sister and mom whom I’m close to. I didn’t disclose anything personal about you or Diane.” Sarah opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “What I told her about my marriage to Hannah is my right and my business.”
Sarah surveyed me with glittering eyes and a raised chin that wasn’t quite steady. I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t want to fight with you, Sarah, but if you’re going to judge me because I’m dating four years after Hannah –”
“Dating,” she scoffed. “Don’t you mean sex?” Her brow raised as she dared me to deny her accusation.
A month ago, I would have cowered under her critical glare. I would’ve been so ashamed of myself, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little bit of that shame still lingering. Seeing Dr. Grant showed me that grief and mourning came in different forms and were expressed in many ways.
Did I regret what I did with other women? Yes. But at the same time, I knew it was what I needed to survive during a heavy period where my sadness weighed me down to the pits of a depressive ocean. It was also a shit lot more common than I’d expected.
As gross as it may seem to Sarah and Diane or anyone else looking in, at the end of the day, I wasn’t hurting Diane or Sarah on purpose. My private life was also my business. I knew my heart, and it loved Hans completely. I loved her right and faithfully.
“I’m sorry if my actions hurt you, Sarah. But I won’t be discussing that part of my life. All you need to know is that I was faithful to Hannah. I didn’t look twice at another woman while she was in my life. I’m also dating someone. Someone I like very much and hope will turn into something more one day.”
A heavy silence filled the room as Sarah stared at me defiantly. My impassioned speech hadn’t seemed to move her. This wasn’t healthy. Her fixation on me and my love life was problematic.
So when she sighed and relaxed back on the couch, I knew I still couldn’t let my guard down. “Okay,” she relented. “I understand.”
She stood and snatched her handbag up, opening it. She dug inside until she produced a small, white envelope.
“What’s that?”
She read the front of the envelope before slowly extending it to me. “Hannah wrote me letters while she was sick. She wrote one for you, too. Here it is.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact, as if she were passing me a recipe I’d asked for.
My breath shallowed, and my heart climbed to my throat. I took it off her and stared at Hannah’s familiar curved script. I deftly opened the flap with a shaky hand and scanned the first sentence.
My Dear Husband,
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. Do you remember the first time we met?
I glanced up at Sarah just in time to see a look of satisfaction clear. I recalled Dr. Grant’s focus when I reminisced about the letters Sarah had given me a few months back. I knew what she’d been thinking, but I’d ignored the look because I didn’t think Sarah had deliberately shown them to me. But now I had to wonder.
“Why am I only seeing this now?”
“What?”
“This letter.” I shook it at her. “It’s over four years old, Sarah. Why am I only getting it now?”
She scratched her elbow and shrugged. “She asked me to give them to you when I knew you were ready.”
My brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“Ready. Maybe she meant dating.”
“Maybedating, or she saidwhenI started dating?”
She blew her breath out with an impatient snort. “What does it matter? She just told me to give it to you when you’re ready. I interpreted it how I wanted to. I knew my sister, and she trusted my judgment.”
I carefully folded the letter, wanting privacy when I read it. Given the fact the envelope was already open, it was easy to deduce that Sarah had likely read it. “You should’ve given it to me when you gave me the other letters you found.”
