someone.
He had been waiting.
Waiting while helping me raise my sons.
Waiting through school concerts, birthdays, college applications and family dinners.
Waiting without asking me for anything.
But that didn’t erase what he had done.
“I’m furious with you,” I admitted.
“I know.”
“And I don’t know what’s underneath that anger yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
That answer somehow made everything harder.
I asked him to leave.
Raymond stood and walked out without arguing.
For three days, I thought about almost nothing else.
I thought about the deception.
He
