'Til death do us part?

I read the paper. Scour it some days, as a matter of fact. This morning in the In Memoriam section I was curious to see two tributes to the same man who died one year ago today: one from his wife, the other from his “true love”, a woman named Marie. It set my curious mind to work, wondering if Marie was the much-scorned mistress? Or perhaps Robert’s second wife who now will find her yearly way to send daggers to the heart of the first wife by purchasing a few lines proclaiming her love for him?

Beverly, wife with his last name, wrote of times spent together in quiet simplicity and of travels, her words bespeaking a familiarity that spouses share comfortably, just by being in each other’s presence. How that must irk Marie, whose only time with him might have been stolen moments in hotels or her home. Yet, she mentions a “letter” which he wrote to her as proof of his returned affection and says they were together for the past fifteen years. The plot thickens.

Maybe Marie was his high school sweetheart, who had never ceased carrying a torch for him? The photo posted with her tribute showed a much younger Robert with darker hair and mustache; Beverly's depicts him with silver at his temples and upper lip. Perhaps, through the miracle that is technology, the Internet had connected them again in recent years and they had rekindled a romance from days gone by? But still, such a public, in your face pronouncement, Marie?

Now and then, real life offers up just such a mystery. This might be good short story fodder at some point. I’ll work on it.