He approached the grave, carefully placed the bouquet, laid his hand on the tombstone… and began to cry. Real, restrained, manly tears. He stood there for a long time, then crouched down and whispered some words.
I stepped out of the shadows and quietly asked:
— Did you know her? He looked up at me. And there was something… familiar in his face.
The features, the gaze, even the shape of his lips. He was silent, then nodded:
— She was my mother. My hands began to tremble.
— What did you say?.. — I am her son. She gave birth to me when she was twenty.
Her first husband was my father. After the divorce, I stayed with him. She left and started a new life… with you.
She rarely spoke about me. She wanted me to be happy and not feel like “unwanted baggage.”
I fell to my knees. I thought I knew my wife.
I thought I knew everything. But it turned out I didn’t know the most important thing. — Why didn’t you come sooner?..
— I whispered. — I came. Only when you weren’t there.
I didn’t want to disturb. I just wanted to be with her too. I wanted her to know — I forgave her everything.
And then we sat side by side by her grave. Two men, connected by one woman. One knew her as a wife, the other as a mother.
We were silent. It hurt both of us. The woman we loved had lied her whole life.
And now, how do you live after that?
