And so, this time, we trusted her instinct. After all, our daughter was older and wiser now, and already burned once by the fire of passion. She would choose more cautiously this time and take her time before doing anything rash. But then, when Martin saw her at the café, seated across from a man twice her age, he went cold instantly.
He described the man later in clipped words: graying, receding hair, steady posture, and careful voice. Not a teacher, not a fellow student, and certainly not anyone we knew. “Forty, maybe more,” Martin said, his eyes hard. My breath snagged. Our daughter with a man like that? It was impossible to imagine. Her life was only beginning!