She waited.
“What are you going to do?”
“I know what she was. The woman I loved. And the woman who had a problem we could’ve faced together and chose fear instead.”
“Can you live with both?”
“I can decide what I do with both.”
***
A few days later, Penelope came with me when I finalized Irene’s marker inscription.
The draft said:
“Beloved Wife.”
“I can decide what I do with both.”
I had already asked for “Wife” to be removed.
Now I stared at it again.
“Do you want me to say anything?” Penelope asked.
“No.”
I thought about the courthouse Irene could’ve taken me to 46 years earlier: one afternoon, a few signatures, a truth that would’ve hurt, but one we could’ve faced together.
“Do you want me to say anything?”
Instead, she carried it until it became too heavy to confess.
“Leave it,” I said.
