He also explained that eating dark bread alone could neither prevent nor cure such problems.
“Mr. George, your intentions may have been good, but your wife had the right to know about her health and participate in every decision.”
George nodded.
“You’re absolutely right.”
That day, he cried in front of me for the first time.
“Margaret, I was so afraid of losing you that I forgot to listen to you.”
I took his hand.
“George, I don’t want you deciding what I’m allowed to eat. I want us to live together, make decisions together, and never hide things from each other.”
He squeezed my hand tightly.
“I promise.”
The following months weren’t easy.
We changed our diet, this time with the doctor’s guidance.
I received treatment, and gradually, I began feeling better.
Then, one Sunday, as we sat down for lunch, George suddenly brought two bread baskets to the table.
