I read the next line.
My eyes filled.
“So why didn’t you?”
Larry’s answer was waiting directly underneath.
“Because then I’d have to hear you decide whether being lonely was a good enough reason.”
And suddenly, two years of mornings with Larry began to look different.
“So why didn’t you?”
Larry’s next line read:
“I made it easier for you to say yes by turning loneliness into paperwork. You had the right to know. I’m sorry.”
I stared at the page.
“You should’ve told me.”
A train rumbled beneath the pavement.
“You should’ve told me.”
The letter continued.
“You always wanted to fix things for me. I liked that about you, even when you drove me crazy.”
I almost smiled.
During our three weeks of marriage, I’d bought Larry better socks, a phone charger, a new blanket, and enough toiletries for six months.
