Sarah began visiting more frequently. When she could not travel, we spoke by video call every Sunday evening. Her children showed me their school projects, soccer trophies, and loose teeth. Those calls gave me something to look forward to.
I also began seeing a therapist.
At first, I resisted the idea.
I was old-fashioned. I had been raised to believe that personal problems should remain personal. Men of my generation were taught to repair what was broken, keep working, and avoid discussing feelings with strangers.
My therapist was a kind, patient woman named Dr. Chun.
During our first meeting, I sat stiffly in the chair and told her I was not certain why I was there.
“You experienced the loss of your wife, prolonged isolation, and a serious betrayal by your son,” she said. “Any one of those would be difficult. You have been trying to carry all three by yourself.”
