Richard arrived the following afternoon carrying a small wooden box. Before I could ask anything, he explained that Eleanor had been his wife for forty-three years. She had passed away five years earlier after a long illness. Every Sunday at 7:30, he visited her grave because that was the time they used to share their evening walks together. He had never stopped missing her.
I asked why he hadn’t told my mother. Richard lowered his eyes and admitted he was afraid she would believe he wasn’t ready for another relationship. He had fallen in love with her, but he didn’t want her to feel she was competing with a memory. Then he opened the wooden box and showed me something unexpected.
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