My husband and I had been dining together at this same small restaurant for 50 years — and after his death, a stranger gave me a note that revealed his secret.

« Il était calme, toujours plongé dans ses pensées. Mais pas d'une manière... normale. C'était comme si ses pensées le consumaient. Il aimait la musique ancienne, celle sur laquelle on pouvait danser pieds nus. Il disait que grand-père l'aimait aussi. »

Je ne lui ai pas tendu la main.

"That's true," I murmured. "He used to hum it in the shower. Loudly and very badly."

We both smiled. Then there were a few minutes of silence, a silence that didn't seem awkward.

"I'm sorry he didn't tell you about us," said Michael.

"Not me, darling," I replied, surprising myself. "I think... I think he wanted to give me a version of himself that belonged only to me, you understand?"

We both smiled.

"Are you angry with him for that?"

I touched the new ring on my finger; it was warm now.

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