I asked him just one question.
“Daniel, every time I called you my brother, what did you feel?”
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Shame, Robert. Every single time.”
“And when Margaret died and I cried on your shoulder?”
“Then too.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“You had a key to my house. My children called you Uncle Daniel. I trusted you with my entire life!”
He lowered his head.
“I know. I have no excuse.”
“Did you love Margaret?”
He remained silent for a long time.
Then he answered:
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“I’ve never completely forgotten her.”
I felt the last of my strength leave me.
I remembered my wife’s funeral.
Daniel had stood beside her coffin, crying.
I’d approached him and said:
“I know, brother. You loved her like a sister too.”
Now I finally understood his silence.
I opened the door.
“Leave, Daniel.”
He pleaded:
