I froze a few steps away. At the grave stood a middle-aged man, with gray streaks in his hair and trembling hands. He held a bouquet of white lilies and spoke in a soft, almost whispering voice:

— Forgive me… I realized too late how much I loved you.

He knelt down and ran his fingers over the stone as if it were a face. I gasped. Who was he? Why did these words sound so sincere?

I stepped closer, and the man turned around. His eyes glistened with tears, and I recognized him. He was an old college friend of my wife — someone she had mentioned only a few times, almost in passing.

He sighed heavily: