At 59 I understood something I would have wanted to know much earlier. The problem had never been the age difference, nor that I had money and he was young. The problem was that, for fear of losing the love I thought I had found, I slowly stopped asking questions.
And sometimes the most dangerous thing is not the man who yells at you. It is the one who smiles at you, calls you “dear”, a glass with both hands brings you and insists, in a soft voice, that you drink it until the end.
