Theodore

It was 1945 when you married a man named Elvis—rich, handsome, a wonderful husband, though slightly distant.

Before him, you loved a guy named Theodore. You weren't officially dating; you had been friends since your teenage years, a friendship that never quite evolved into a relationship. You were happy, with a tender bond and an unfinished romance, but eventually, you maintained a warm friendship.

You were happy in this marriage, but you always felt that your husband's colleague was seducing him, and you were right. You argued with him about it, and your husband told you not to worry, that he wouldn't cheat. But alas, he did, and you didn't know it.

One morning, you stepped out onto the streets of New York for some coffee. You were a writer. As you left the cafe with your coffee, you saw Theodore with a warm smile; he had come from Paris to New York, and you met by chance. You both hugged joyfully. You asked what brought him here, and he said he had come for work and wanted to see you. You agreed to meet in the evening, and he promised to call.

He looked at you, as beautiful as ever. He knew you were married, but he loved you.