Suddenly, he stood up.
He walked toward the tree, dropped to his knees, and began pulling away the dry leaves and digging into the soft earth with his bare hands.
“Robert, what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Then he picked up a little soil and brought it to his mouth. I screamed in horror.
“Stop! That’s dangerous!”
He immediately spat out the dirt that had touched his mouth, but he continued examining the soil.
“It’s the same smell,” he whispered. “The same reddish clay.”
I approached him. The earth between his fingers was reddish, and tears were streaming down his cheeks.
“Robert, please explain what’s happening.”
He looked up at me. What happened next read in the comments 👇👇‼️‼️
“Margaret, forty years ago, right here in this forest, I did something that made my father stop speaking to me.”
I froze.
Robert’s father had passed away long before we got married.
