That was closer to the truth than any apology about good intentions.

“I don’t know when I’ll trust you again,” I admitted.

“I know.”

After dinner, he went to the guest room.

I went to our study and opened a childhood memory box Daniel had given me when I married.

At the bottom was a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon.

I had never read them because the envelopes bore no return addresses and my father had told me they were old condolence notes.

I untied the ribbon.