inside.
For the next two hours, he told me a story that made fifty-five years of my life look completely different.
“I spent months recovering. For a while, I couldn’t even write.”
“Who took care of you?”
“Doctors. Nurses. There was one nurse, Margaret, who helped me a lot.”
I squeezed his hand.
“I’m glad somebody was there.”
“So was I.”
“How long were you there?”
“Almost a year.”
“And you thought about me?”
“Every day.”
“Then why didn’t you come home?”
Danny looked away.
“I wrote to you as