either of us.”
When I asked what they were talking about, Robert said they were having financial problems.
At the time, I believed him. My father died eighteen years ago. I still remember one of the last things he said to me:
“Margaret, sometimes parents make terrible mistakes because they believe they’re protecting their children.”
I only understood the meaning of those words now. For our sixtieth wedding anniversary, Robert bought two bus tickets.
He said he wanted to take me somewhere beautiful, somewhere we’d never been before.
That morning, I put on my favorite blue blouse. We sat beside each other on the bus and took a photograph.
I was smiling. But my husband seemed unusually tense.
As the bus left the city, he grabbed my hand.
“Margaret, there’s something I need to confess.”
I laughed.
“I hope you don’t have a young mistress.”
He didn’t smile. Instead, he
