Photo by Decha Huayyai
Worn boots on a weathered table under a canopy of oak. Hot coffee. Angie joined him on the terrace.
There was nothing to say. The weight of it all dampened the sun's warmth.
“You shouldn't have called him.”
“It's time to start fresh, Hal.”
“He doesn't know me. I don't know me.” He looked pained.
“I know you.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You are the man that showed me with your love and patience how wonderful life can be. You'll be a great father.
She sat beside him. He kissed her hand.
“Maybe,” he said.
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