There were moments when I wanted to ask the same questions again and again.
Why hadn't he told me?
Why had he allowed our marriage to begin with a lie?
Why had he waited until the very moment I regained my sight to confess?
He answered every time.
He didn't accuse me of being unfair.
He didn't demand that I move on.
And slowly, I began noticing changes.
He stopped making decisions about my rehabilitation without asking me.
He gave me space when I needed it.
He took over bedtime routines on evenings when visual fatigue left me exhausted.
He encouraged the children to ask questions rather than pretend nothing difficult had happened.
And when Iris once asked whether Daddy had done something bad when he was little, he didn't lie.
He told her, in words a child could understand, that he had hurt someone and spent years afraid to tell the truth.
