When she yelled at me that night, I realized I did not care whether she had been with another man and whether she had given her heart to him. I had looked into the matter of her deceased husband, and the discrepancies were obvious. If anybody with half a brain had done their research, her story would’ve fallen apart. I had already begun to suspect that Paul had been made up or perhaps a husband in name only. Or maybe she had slept with him once and conceived her daughter. But never had I imagined that she had taken a number of lovers.
I can’t say it doesn’t bother me. That it was so easy for her to move on from me feels horrible. I was the first man she was with, and then I pushed her into the arms of so many others.
The sound of children playing is fuzzy background noise to me as I sit
