I shook my head, admitting that I had spent weeks searching for an answer. The stranger introduced himself as Arthur and explained that he had lost his wife several years earlier. He told me that their marriage had lasted almost forty years, but there had been a period when they barely spoke honestly to each other. They had loved one another, yet both had hidden their fears behind ordinary routines. His wife had worried about growing older, while he had been afraid of becoming a burden. By the time they finally admitted what they were feeling, years had passed. Listening to him made me wonder whether Greg had also been hiding something.

Arthur reached into his pocket and took out a small, worn photograph. It showed him standing beside a woman with silver hair, both of them smiling beneath a tree. He told me he carried it everywhere because it reminded him that love wasn’t measured only by how long two people stayed together, but also by what they learned from one another. Then he looked directly at me and said, “Sometimes, the person who leaves is running from something inside themselves. That doesn’t make the pain they cause any smaller.” His words stayed with me long after we finished our coffee.