More and more things continue to come to light — letters from people he knew in France, quiet disclosures, fragments of a past that was never fully visible.

I lived with a man for 32 years and yet there were entire parts of his life I never truly knew.

Only rumours — the ones I noticed early on and chose, at the time, to ignore.

That choice wasn’t blindness.

It was trust.

It was giving someone the benefit of the doubt when love encourages you to believe consistency will eventually appear.

What this past year has shown me is that silence, distance, and omission can be as revealing as words.

When a life is carefully compartmentalised, it is not because it is simple — it is because it is controlled.

This isn’t about rewriting the past.

It’s about finally seeing it clearly.

And clarity, however late it arrives, is not failure — it is freedom.