Our bedroom has a balcony off it that looks out over the Gulf of St. Tropez. Although we are heading into winter, the air is only mildly cool outside and perfect to sit out there with a nightcap and talk.

“I know I said it before, but I do mean it. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. Thank you for this.” I lift my glass up to his, and as we clink them together, the scotch in both of them swishes from side to side.

He replies with a smug look on his face. “You’re welcome, foxy lady.”

“Seriously, here I was trying to be nice to you and you say that. You know that this name thing is getting old now, don’t you.” But for the first time, I can’t help but smile at it too.

I don’t know that I have ever had anything in my life like this, that is just the stupidest joke but at the same time is also something just between me and a man I’m close to.

I don’t know because I was so young, but I can imagine that my mum and dad had inside jokes like this. They were so close, and I always thought they were so cute together.

Thinking about them in a good way is a bit of a shock because I haven’t done that in a long time. Since before my dad left.

Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning, a warm feeling surging through my body.

He didn’t leave her because he didn’t love her. My father left to try to protect her, because of how much he loved her.

It may not have played out how he wanted it to, but if I look at it now from an outside perspective, the media attention went away probably quicker than it would have if he had stayed with us. Knowing what I know now about how business law works, it would have taken years for him to be charged with trading insolvently, and the whole family would have been hounded by the media and by the public whose money he lost.

All of a sudden, I feel the need to share this.

“He loved my mother.” My words came from nowhere, yet Forrest doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just takes my hand in his and squeezes it.