handwriting.
That nearly undid me. I had waited for that handwriting overseas.
I tore the envelope open.
The first line read:
Robert, there is something I should have told you 46 years ago.
I read it, then looked at Mr. Geller.
Then I looked back at Irene’s letter.
Robert, there is something I should have told you 46 years ago.
The next line stopped me.
I was married before I met you.
I sat down on the bench beside the door.
“Married?”
Mr. Geller stayed quiet.
I looked up at him. “You knew about this?”
I was married before I met you.
“I knew what Irene told me. The rest is in the letter.”
I kept reading.
Irene had married her high-school boyfriend when she was 18. They lasted only a few months.
They argued, separated, signed papers, and went their separate ways.
But the final divorce decree was never
