It’s good to have them back of course. I still remember the final argument. The shouting. The anger – on both sides. The words none of us can take back or forget. I still hear that terrible phrase “dead to me”. Even so, I know my husband still thinks about them. He would never say he was wrong of course but I think he does feel… something. He still loves them, in his way. After all, he got me this. I can talk to them. We talk about the old days. They never mention their identity though. Apparently they can’t.