It was all, I thought, that needed to be said, but of course he did not know that; how could he have? For I remembered that other world and what is not learned there, including when words are futile, and a watching is enough to know.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“If you want.” My voice was not unpleasant, not without cordiality. I felt strength returned, and so it was possible to be kind.

I began to walk toward the cabin and he followed, staying a little behind me; we were no longer equals, no longer a couple, and it did not seem right that we should walk together. In the cabin I sat down at the table in the kitchen, and after a moment he sat in the chair opposite, looking around the room, not ready yet to look at me, while I waited calmly, my hands folded on the table. Finally he had to begin, and he glanced at me, then down at his hands, and he kept his gaze there while he spoke. There was a strain of rehearsal in his speech; he had prepared what to say, how to react, but I think it likely he prepared with a fantasy that was much different from what was here. For an instant I felt protective, wanted to put my arms around him to tell him it was all right, but I knew he would misinterpret the gesture. If I held him it would not be directed at Stephen the husband, the man, but simply at a suffering person, and he would not understand that. I sat quietly.

“I came here,” he began slowly, “to ask you what happened. In case you’re wondering, I found you by accident. I looked for months, but nobody knew anything. Then the man who owned this place, the one you bought it from I guess, called one night not long ago to see how we liked the place. He told me where you were.”

The prepared speech, like the prepared tone of voice, fell apart, he gave it up and looked at me, pleading and angry, demanding.

“What happened? Why did you leave like that? Didn’t you know what you were doing to us? Didn’t you care about the children, or your parents? Or me?” The last had the shrill tone of the wounded, the one who feels most injured, who has come to the real point. He tried to continue, could not find the words. I understood, because there were no words for how he felt. He didn’t know that I could feel his pain and frustration and humiliation in myself because I was watching him and was him. And yet his pain and frustration and humiliation did not dislodge my knowledge of what was true, so that however far my understanding went, it would make no difference in the end.