“And after Robert died, you held me while I cried for him?”
She nodded.
“You watched me grieve for a man you were secretly involved with?”
“I’m so sorry.”
I stood up.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Susan hesitated.
“Because I’m getting married next month. My fiancé knows everything, and he told me I needed to confess before our wedding.”
I couldn’t believe it.
She wasn’t confessing because she cared about my pain.
She was confessing because she wanted to begin her new marriage without guilt.
I picked up my phone and looked at our final beach photograph.
Then I deleted it.
“You were right, Susan,” I whispered. “That really was our last picture together.”
She reached for my hand, but I stepped away.
“Please don’t throw away forty-two years of friendship.”
I looked directly into her eyes.
“You threw it away eleven years ago.”
