Desmond was never arrested. He was briefly sedated for acute anxiety and released that same evening. There were no charges, no armed guards, and certainly no life sentence. For two weeks, I heard nothing from him. Then, one afternoon, someone knocked on my door. When I opened it, Desmond was standing there, looking older than I remembered. He finally told me he had spent six months trying to find the courage to apologize for disappearing after his marriage.

The chocolates had been the only language he could find. When he discovered I had given them away, he convinced himself that I was rejecting not only the gift, but everything he had been trying to offer me. His voice broke as he admitted that fear had taken over. Then he started crying. I had not seen Desmond cry since he was eleven years old. I stood there listening, realizing that beneath the frightening phone call was something much more painful than anyone had imagined.