“I’ll look into it,” Mark said and turned to leave.
“I feel sorry for the widow,” the man said, halting him. “Down in town, everyone’s saying that it’s much more likely that she killed her husband and not some random soldier woman. But that poor woman could never. I remember when he first brought her home, she was so happy and friendly. Always smiling, so interested in my garden, always offering to help and asking me for gardening and pruning advice. But then slowly, he beat all the joy out of her. Such a shame, such a waste. I should’ve done more to help her.”
“You did what you could,” Mark said, his voice sounding disembodied as he extricated his arm from the man’s clutch.
Mia, one of the first women he ever had genuine feelings for, the first true lover he had, the companion of his y
