Two more years passed. I saw Vincent again in a restaurant in Rome.The restaurant was at the end of a narrow street. The light was low. The tables were spaced far apart. I had not planned to be there. Daniel had chosen it. He had become my husband by then, and he said the food was good, good for the end of a long day.When I walked in, Vincent was already seated by the window. He saw me before I saw him. His hand stopped midair. He was old now. His hair had gone mostly gray. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and there was a long scar across his wrist, old and healed but deep. He looked like someone who had been pressed down many times and had barely gotten back up.He rose and came toward me. He stopped a few steps away. I introduced Daniel as my husband. Vincent looked at him, then back at me. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked like a car that had sat too long and could not start again."Hello," Vincent said.Daniel smiled. "Hello."The meal was quiet. Vincent di
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