“How?”
“I showed it to him. I went to ask for his blessing.”
I sat down.
“What did he tell you?”
“That we were too young. That you were so loyal to me that you would give up anything if I asked.”
I stared at the pile of letters.
“So you left and eventually started another life.”
“I tried to stay close to you. But after a while, I convinced myself your father was right. I thought keeping my distance was helping you.”
Anger rose inside me.
“You never asked what I wanted.”
“I know.”
His answer was barely a whisper.
Jeffrey looked toward the window.
“When your letters started coming less often, I assumed your father had been right. I thought you were moving on.”
“My letters slowed down because yours did.”
He nodded.
“I know that now.”
Then he paused.
“Actually, I knew before I married Margaret.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Your father came to see me.”
“What?”
“He came to tell me he had been wrong.”
My father died the following year after a long illness.
According to Jeffrey, Dad had begun regretting what he had done.
He realized that he had interfered with a decision that should have belonged to us.
During that visit, he gave Jeffrey the wooden box.
Inside were old letters my father had written to my mother before they married.
My father had once been in almost the exact same situation.
My mother’s parent had believed Dad wasn’t right for her.
Had my father listened back then, I would never have existed.
“Why didn’t you come back?” I asked.
Jeffrey looked at me.
“Because by then, I had already promised my life to Margaret.”
He swallowed.
“And I loved her too, Ruth.”
Strangely, hearing that didn’t hurt.
I thought it would.
Instead, I asked,
“What you had with her… it was real?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m glad.”
He looked surprised.
“I wouldn’t want another woman’s entire marriage turned into some mistake just because you and I were too frightened to say what we wanted when we were nineteen.”
Jeffrey reached for my hand.
