Every man, every good man at any rate, has at least one secret; something he is ashamed of, something he regrets, something that will haunt him till he dies. It may be something trivial to an impartial observer, perhaps a youthful indiscretion, or a moment of weakness anyone can be forgiven for. But to the man it is at best a nagging ache; at worst an almost unendurable pain. In either case, it never goes away, it comes in fits and starts, it rolls over him in waves. It is the undeniable evidence of his failure at being totally human.

Usually it involves a memory of a cruelty done to another, often someone he loved or perhaps someone he barely knew, but in any event someone who deserved better, especially from him. But sometimes it is the realization of a great failure, a glaring shortcoming, a missed opportunity, a lack of courage or a moment of hesitation. It is the lost weekend, the day things came unraveled, the one who came undone, the one that got away.

You women, ask not your man what his moment of shame and regret was, for he will not tell you. He barely can think about it to himself, and you cannot imagine it all, because you are a woman. Your sins and your penances are not like ours. Simply know that he cannot forget it, and he will spend the rest of his life trying to set it right, if not for his imagined victim from the dim past, then for you, or for his children.

Simply know, and the next time you wake on a long trip, and glance at his eyes staring at the road in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, that he is thinking of that time long ago when he made some irretrievable decision that changed his world forever. Then let him know, in some gentle way, without giving away what you know now, that it doesn't matter anymore.