In some ways, it became more truthful.
Several years later, Michael purchased a small piece of land of his own.
It was not as large as mine, and it was farther from town than Jennifer preferred, but he paid for it with money he had earned and saved honestly.
He built a modest house there.
The day the foundation was poured, he invited me to visit the site.
A concrete truck stood near the construction area.
When I saw it, I stopped walking.
Michael immediately noticed.
“I should have warned you.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, I should have thought about it.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked toward the truck.
“I hate that I turned something ordinary into a terrible memory for you.”
“You did.”
“I can ask them to schedule the pour when you’re not here.”
I studied his face.
“No. I don’t want that morning to own every concrete truck I see for the rest of my life.”
