Every now and then, I found an update about you, a bit of news to make my heart sing. I saw you in the newspaper from time to time. A couple of times, you even came into the ice cream shop, but I deliberately stayed in the back and didn’t talk to you. You had your life, Shelby, and you didn’t need me in it. I simply watched you quietly and enjoyed what I saw. You looked beautiful and strong. A little lonely like me, maybe, but no one has a perfect life. Still, you looked happy.

That was all I needed to know.

*

It was fifteen years later when I saw the news about you becoming sheriff of Mittel County. I couldn’t have been prouder.

But not even another year after that, my heart broke when I read in the paper that Tom had passed away. I remembered his fears from years earlier that he would suffer early dementia, the way his parents had, and tragically, those fears were realized. He was only sixty-six, just four years older than I was. I’d lost the love of my life.

I couldn’t stay away from his funeral. I had to be there. I drove to the little church on that Saturday afternoon, but I had to struggle to find a seat, because the church was packed with mourners and friends. People came from miles away. Everyone knew Tom. Everyone loved and respected him. And they felt that way about you, too, Shelby. I could see that. There were so many tears, so many people who stood up and talked about what Tom had done for them, what Tom had meant to them.

The eulogy you gave him made me sob, Shelby. You talked about him finding you on his doorstep. You talked about the life he’d given you. You cried, smiled, laughed, and joked. You stood up there with my dark hair and my dark eyes, and you got through that awful day in a way that would have made Tom proud. You were just what I’d always wanted you to be. Fearless.

I wished I had the courage myself to go up to you and tell you my story. To tell you our story. To explain, to help you understand, to answer the questions you had. I already knew what I would say when it came to that, when we were finally together, because I’d had those first words in my head for years.

I know you’ll never forgive me for what I did.

But it was too late for ancient history.