Because I was ordinary.
My father never said he was ashamed of me, but he never had to.
The silence at the dinner table whenever my career came up said enough.
Then Eleanor entered my life.
I met her on a rainy afternoon in a small bookstore downtown.
I was standing in front of a shelf filled
with old history books, trying to decide whether I could afford one when a voice beside me said, “You keep touching that book like you’re waiting for someone to tell you that you’re allowed to buy it.”
I turned around.
An elegant woman stood there holding an umbrella.
She had silver hair tied neatly behind her shoulders, intelligent eyes, and a calm smile that made the crowded bookstore suddenly feel quiet.
I laughed awkwardly.
“I’m just deciding if it’s worth the money.”
She looked at the book.
