September 18, 1944 He came back. Ronaldo came back.
He was bruised and hurt when he did. Cuts marred his beautiful face. Bruises discolored his skin. I was so excited to see him, I threw myself at him. Only then did I notice the grunt of pain. I nearly cried when I saw his pain.
He wouldn’t tell me what happened. But I think the
distance got to both of us.
Because we . . .
I lay with another man. A man who is not my husband.
And I’m finding it very hard to regret it. There’s
shame. I feel that. But not regret.
In fact, all I want is to do it again.
