He sent me a picture of him. It was taken on a warm, sunny afternoon, standing on a green golf course, his chubby hand and short stocky fingers were resting on a golf club. He wore a weathered polo shirt that was two sizes too small, stretched miserably over the protrusion of his belly and gathered tightly across his broad shoulders and wide chest. His double chin showed the beginning of stubble. There were small rivulets of sweat on his square brow, prominent beneath his receding hairline.

Meanwhile, in the picture, I saw an intelligent man, a warm broad smile, expressive eyes, arms to hold me while…