We had been married for years. Our two children had grown up. Our parents had died, and we finally had the house to ourselves. My husband is a tailor and he had done well enough that he didn’t have to work so hard anymore.

One morning as he sat at the table in front of the kitchen window, I brought him a pot of coffee. He poured it into his cup, and was about to drink it when the sun lit up the coffee and cast a reflection on the wall. Little rings flickered here and there. He said, “Ah, the sun wants very much to bring it to light, but it can’t.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, coming to the table.

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

“If you love me you will.”

He told me that many years ago he had been traveling in rags and without money, and in his desperation he had killed a man. He took his money, and the dying man had said, “The bright sun will bring it to light!”

So it has.

But how can I love him now?

Guilty Tailor’s Wife in The Bright Sun Will Bring it to Light, Grimms. Painting by Amedeo Modigliani.