So it is the years and the silver streaks in my hair that make a difference?
Ten plus years ago, I had shouted at you.
Don’t talk to me. Ever. How can you do this.
What kind of a brother are you.
You were the perfect couple. Ideal. Roses and red wine, except it was a sham.
Then it ended, as publicly as can in that closed and conservative society. Nasty.
You hurt, personally. Professionally.
Then you went away and made a new life. From scratch.
I now respect your decision. Clean.
Is there something “nice” about it? No.
Atleast it was honest. And if she lasted ten years then she’s more than a trophy wife.
Maybe I was wrong.