"Get out of this office.
Don't come home tonight.
Don't call me.
Don't talk to me."
David's face went blank.
He put his phone in his pocket.
He walked to the door, opened it, and stopped.
"You'll regret this," he said without turning around.
"No," I said.
"I don't think I will."
He left.
The door closed behind him.
The room was quiet.
I sat there for a long time.
The letter was still in my hands.
I read the last line, the one I hadn't read aloud.
*"Linda, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this in person.
I tried once.
You were in your garden, and I walked to the fence, and I opened my mouth, and nothing came out.
I was afraid you wouldn't believe me.
I was afraid you'd think I was just another angry old man.
So I wrote it down instead.
I hope your roses grow back.
I always thought they were beautiful."*
I pressed the letter against my face and cried.
Not quietly.
Not the way you cry when you're trying to hold yourself together.
I cried the way you cry when you realize someone was trying to protect you and you never knew.
Mr.
Higgins didn't say anything.
He pushed a box of tissues across the desk and waited.
