“Robert, we’ve been friends for 42 years. I really did love you like a brother.”
I looked at him.
“That’s exactly what I can’t understand. How can someone love another person so much and still betray him like that?”
He left.
Six months have passed.
Daniel has sent me three letters. I haven’t answered any of them.
But our last photograph is still on my phone.
In it, two older men are smiling with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
One believes he’s standing beside the most loyal friend he’s ever had.
The other knows that by the following morning, their friendship will be over.
Sometimes I wonder whether it would have been better never to learn the truth.
Because that day, I didn’t just lose my best friend.
I lost my wife for the second time.
I’m 68 years old now, and I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to forgive him.
