After Margaret’s death, Daniel became my greatest source of support.
He visited every Sunday. Sometimes he simply sat beside me while I talked about how terribly I missed my wife.
He listened, sometimes with tears in his eyes.
This summer, Daniel suggested we spend a week at his vacation home.
It had a swimming pool, a spacious backyard, and a beautiful barbecue area.
“Robert, we’re getting old. We should enjoy the years we have left,” he told me.
I agreed.
We spent the entire week remembering our youth, laughing, grilling food, and talking about the past.
But on the final day, Daniel began acting strangely.
He barely spoke.
Sometimes he stared at me for several seconds, as though he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t find the courage.
That evening, as we stood beside the barbecue grill, he poured two glasses of wine.
Then he put his arm around my shoulders and said:
