What if Frank was telling the truth?
What if those hotel rooms weren’t about hiding someone else, but about hiding himself?
I sat there for hours, turning it over in my mind.
Three days later, a courier envelope arrived. My name was typed neatly on the front.
I opened it standing in the hallway, still in my coat.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
A letter… I recognized Troy’s handwriting immediately.
I need you to know this plainly: I lied to you, and I chose to.
Tears pricked at my eyes.
I staggered to the closest chair and collapsed into it before reading the rest.
I was getting medical treatment.
I didn’t know how to explain without changing the way you saw me.
It wasn’t local.
It wasn’t simple. And I was afraid that once I said it out loud, I would become your responsibility instead of your partner.
So I paid for rooms. I moved money.
I answered your questions badly.
And when you asked me directly, I still didn’t tell you.
That was wrong.
I don’t expect forgiveness. I only want you to know that none of this was about wanting another life.
It was about being afraid to let you see this part of mine.
You did nothing wrong. You made your decision with the truth you had.
I hope one day that brings you peace.
I loved you the best way I knew how.
— Troy
I didn’t cry right away.
I sat there, the paper in my hands, and let the words settle.
He had lied.
That part hadn’t changed, but now I understood the shape of it.
If only he’d let me in instead of shutting me out. How different our lives might have been.
I folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope.
Then I sat there for a long time, thinking about the man I’d known and loved all my life and lost twice.
If you could give one piece of advice to anyone in this story, what would it be?
Let’s talk about it in the Facebook comments.
