Call him, call him.
He couldn’t call him... What about Helen? And the kids?
That nagging voice at the back of his mind wouldn’t give up though. Just call him and get it over with.
His life would crumble to pieces or it would start anew. The lying, the hiding, the cheating, the faking, all would be a faint recollection of a tortured past.
But the damn questions he’d have to face. Where did you meet him? When did you meet him? Did you ever love me?
Call him. “Hello? Martin? This is Frank.”
That was it. It started. Finally.