“There was nothing to tell.” My voice was calm in a way that startled both of us.
“Maybe we rushed into the divorce,” he said. “Maybe we should think about things—”
“Max,” I interrupted, “you divorced a grieving woman because you thought there was nothing she could give you. Now that you know I have something, suddenly you want to ‘think about things’?”
His face went pale.
“I made a mistake,” he whispered.
“You did,” I agreed. “And now you get to live with it.”
I closed the door gently. He didn’t knock again.
That day, I realized something my father had known long before I did: sincerity reveals itself when life strips everything else away. Some people love you for what you can offer them. Others love you for who you are when you have nothing left to give.
My father had been one of the latter. Max had proved himself the former.
Continue reading…
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
