Yet for two years, he had also listened to me. He had shared quiet afternoons, books, music, and the friendship that made this place feel less lonely.
Forgiveness would not make his choices right. Still, I found I could remember those afternoons without surrendering what I now knew.
As the sky turned gold and violet, I folded the letter.
“I forgive you, Walter,” I whispered. “Rest now. The game is over.”
