I swallowed.
“Why didn't you come to me yourself?”
Julian's voice became rough.
“Because he was still alive, and I thought the truth needed to come from him.”
He looked directly at me.
“I didn't want my first act in your life to be taking away your trust in your husband.”
I stared at him.
Then whispered:
“But that happened anyway.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
For the first time, I noticed how frightened he looked.
Not of me exactly.
Of rejection.
He was a grown man.
Forty-six years old.
Yet something in his expression reminded me of a little boy waiting outside a classroom, unsure whether anyone would come to collect him.
I asked:
“Why were you at the funeral?”
He swallowed.
“Because I loved Thomas.”
My heart broke.
“And because I wanted to make sure you weren't alone.”
I started crying.
Julian didn't move.
He simply waited.
Then a small voice came from the doorway.
