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Emotionally.
Like a man who had been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
“I think it’s time you told me who you are,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he finally looked at Emily’s name.
And what he said next completely changed the way I understood my wife’s life.
“Your wife was my wife…”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“No. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
He took a slow breath.
“I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”
“Then why are you here?”
He looked down.
“I come here because I needed to say thank you.”
I thought I’d misheard him.
“Thank you?”
He nodded.
I looked at Emily’s headstone.
Then back at him.
“For what?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Your wife saved my daughter’s life.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“My wife?”
He nodded again.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him, completely confused.
“Emily never mentioned you.”
“I know.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“She didn’t really know me. At least, she probably wouldn’t have remembered my name. She might not even have remembered my face.”
He paused.
“But I’ll never forget hers.”
Then he looked at the grass beside the grave.
“Can I tell you what happened?”
Everything inside me wanted to say no.
I wanted to walk away.
I wanted to protect the memory of my wife from whatever complicated story was about to be revealed.
But something about his voice stopped me.
So I sat down.
He sat across from me.
Two strangers on opposite sides of Emily’s grave.
I was her husband of twenty years.
He was a man I’d never met.
Yet somehow, he knew something about my wife that I didn’t.
His name was Mike.
He was 47 years old.
He worked as a mechanic.