I never told my wife about Margaret. Summer of 1962. We were 18. She worked at the ice cream shop on Lake Street. I enlisted that fall. Wrote her 14 letters from overseas. All returned unopened.
I never told my wife about Margaret. Not because I didn’t love my wife. I did. Forty-two good years. Two children. Five grandchildren. A house full of Christmas mornings, school concerts, …
I never told my wife about Margaret. Summer of 1962. We were 18. She worked at the ice cream shop on Lake Street. I enlisted that fall. Wrote her 14 letters from overseas. All returned unopened. Read More