For a brief moment I felt angry that he had never shared this story.

But then I heard Walter’s voice in the words, steady and sincere, and the anger softened.

The following morning Toby drove me to the cemetery before visitors arrived.

I placed the ring and Walter’s letter inside a small velvet pouch and laid it gently beside his grave.

For one frightening moment the day before, I had thought I had lost my husband twice—once to death, and once to a secret I didn’t understand.

But now I knew the truth.

After seventy-two years, I hadn’t known every part of Walter.

I had only known the part of him that loved me most.

And in the end, that was more than enough.

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